Dragon of the East
by Okan-Zeeus
Summary: Four souls journey to the north at a time of crisis. Dragons have returned and threaten the land. Now Skyrim's fate lies in the hands of foreigner, a kind Argonian who wears a killer's mantle. He must rise and become the greatest dragon slayer the world has ever known, and he must do it against all odds… for there are those, in the name of justice, who would see him die trying.
1. Arc 1 - Prologue

Dragon of the East is a retelling of Skyrim's story as inspired by one of my most memorable playthroughs. It will be a chronologue of events told by four separate original characters, each acting as narrators to their own tales. This is technically AU, but many aspects of the story will mirror the events of Skyrim. I have attempted to put my own twist on things, though, to keep readers guessing.

DOTE has been my passion project for many months now! I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**DRAGON OF THE EAST - A Skyrim Retelling**

_A mortal of Nirn with the soul of a wyrm,_

_A dragon of the north, born from the east,_

_A traitor to his people, but a savior to the world,_

_This is the legend of the dovahkiin, the last of the dragon blood…_

_… The one who chased the wind._

* * *

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ PROLOGUE ~**

_Okan-Zeeus_

* * *

**_Ten years ago…_**

A soft patter of rain pelted my scales. I slowly sloshed out of the waist high marsh, thick with mud and algae. Remnants of dusk sifting through the tops of vine festooned trees began to fade as the sky clotted with a dark overcast. The air was heavy and humid, wafting scents of decaying wood and fungi. Torch bugs and bright yellow shines receded from the coming storm, taking with them their lights that reflected across the waters. I slumped down onto the moss covered floor.

For many minutes I sat in silence, feeling the weight of my chest rising and falling with each winded breath. I tore off a sleeve from my clothes, frayed and worn, fabric brushing against the tender bleeding flesh of a sword wound. I had not stopped running since escaping Archon. For nearly two days I fled, evading trackers and scouting parties through the fetid swamps of Black Marsh. I was able to avoid most of them. Others I could not. I was tired…

…so tired of killing…

As I stretched my palm over the injured arm, my healing spell closed the wound with bands of shimmering light. I let out a long placated sigh, savoring the magic's warmth. After some minutes the gash was gone. Scratching an itch on my face, I felt the claw-mark scars streaked across my left jaw, still swollen and fresh. I chose not to heal them. They would remain a part of my visage, a reminder. My thoughts slipped away with exhaustion. I wanted to rest.

But my eyes would not close. I could hear footsteps slogging through the damp loamy soil. Slowly I came to my feet, hand resting on the hilt of a sword sheathed upon my belt sash. I turned and saw the figure of a woman standing behind me. An Argonian, same as I. The faint incandescence of the nearly set sun shone on her reptilian features and fawn colored scales.

"I did not expect you to run away like this, Okan-Zeeus," she said. I clenched my weapon.

"Zollassa," I hissed. "Are you here to kill me?"

"No," she said. I looked away. My posture became lax, tail hanging limp.

"Then why do you care?"

"Cold words to speak to a friend."

"I have no wish for conversation."

Zollassa moved closer, her gaze meeting mine.

"You would rather run?" she asked.

"There is nothing left for me here," I spoke plainly, "and I will not lie down and die for the wrongs of dead men."

"Xhu," she replied, "I understand."

A sullen look crossed my face.

"No. I do not think you do."

"Okan, you did nothing to deserve your sentence. I know this. Deerkaza, Mahei-Ru… they all know it. What you did–"

"Stop it, Zol. I never asked for your pity," I interrupted, waving her aside. "They'll kill you if they discover we've spoken. You mustn't stay here."

I began to walk away. The deluge was spilling with swelled force, splashing in the swamp's mire.

"Okan-Zeeus," Zollassa called out to me. "Where do you mean to go?"

"Far away," I called in return.

"You know they will not stop looking for you."

"If they wish to waste more lives in pursuit of me, let them," I vexed. "I will endure."

"So you will go on killing?"

I stopped walking.

"Only if I must," I said, turning back, "but _I_ will decide whose blood I spill. It will not be decided for me. Hence forth, this one's sword is free, and I will wield it for all the good I can bring."

There was a pause. Zollassa looked thoughtful.

"You seek absolution, then," she replied, approaching me once more.

"As though I could truly earn such a thing."

"There's no need to earn it. Their deaths were not your fault."

I glared. "How can you say that!? Have we not sullied our hands with the blood of countless souls?"

"Those are not the deaths I speak of."

She must have learned what had happened. I looked deeply into the eyes of the last friend I had to leave behind.

"You believe I am blameless for their fates, too…?"

"I believe you never would have wanted this."

"And that is why I no longer live for myself. All that I do from here, I owe to their memory."

"You owe them nothing. They were happy in life. Why do you choose to carry this guilt?"

"Because I am the only one left who can!" I roared, before my voice lost its strength, breaking into whimpered cries. "This guilt is _mine_, Zollassa! You of all should know – ours was meant to be a path of isolation, disconnected from the world. Those who bring death have no place among the living! I sealed their fates the moment their lives entwined with my own."

"Do not say such things," Zollassa beseeched. "You never wanted that. You loved them."

"Of course I did!" I exclaimed, tears hidden by the rain beating upon my face. "But it changes nothing! I should have known better than to hope I could become anything more than what I am – a killer! A taker of lives!"

Zollassa's expression became stern.

"Then why run?" she asked.

…

"Because I have not given up my hope… and I never will."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_I hope the structure of these chapters is clear. Everything is in first person - the narrator will always be stated at the beginning, to prevent any confusion. Different chapters will have different narrators._

_If you took the time to read this, please, let me know what you think! Any feedback is appreciated! I've been putting my heart and soul into these writings, and its been a lot of fun. I'll keep going if people keep reading._


	2. Arc 1 - Chapter 1

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 1 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

The scent of roasting trout lingered in the crisp air. Setting down my crossbow on the snow covered podzol, I turned in my seat to the fish spitted over a small smokeless fire. I pulled away the darkened morsel, spewing a mouthful of canteen water upon the flames, dousing them.

As I salted the fish, I ventured a gaze across the cliff's edge. Silhouettes of jagged mountains clawing the sky marked the edge of all visible sight. Surrounding me were spires and hills of stalwart rock among lush green pines, flecked with pockets of white. Sounds of unseen life filled the silence of the glade, veiled by a thick morning fog. I relaxed, enjoying the serene solitude of nature. Then a frigid wind blew upon my scales, reminding me that this was Skyrim, a land of bitter and unpleasant cold.

A strong disgust of trout did not help the matter.

My rations had run low, forcing me to scavenge in the immediate wilderness. I was fortunate enough to have stumbled upon a small pond back to the south-east, nestled in the crags of a wintry massif, the heart of the Jerall Mountains. I stopped for a time to fish for brown trout in the freezing tarn, before hiking onward. My saurian skin still felt moist beneath my garbs of leather and fur.

For an Argonian such as I, catching fish comes easy. A form that can respire under water and swim the speed of dolphins tends to aid such things. Of course, I hate eating them. Fish, I mean.

I took one last unsavory bite before resuming my repairs. I gathered up my unloaded crossbow, tightened its drawstring, and pulled back the priming lever to test its mechanics. I squeezed the metal trigger, still gripping the lever to keep it from snapping, bearing the energy of the weapon as it sought release. Slowly I let loose the tension, smiling to myself. An unfortunate encounter with a frost troll had damaged the crossbow. Now the weapon was repaired and in usable condition. Or so it seemed, at least.

Laying the crossbow aside, I rested back against a boulder, propping up a knee with my tail between my legs. I stared into the blank clouds. Traversing through the Jerall had been a difficult endeavor, but well worthwhile. The harsh conditions deterred pursuit. I was able to cross the border into Skyrim unnoticed and unfollowed. No one would think to find me in Tamriel's northlands, so far away from the cities of Cyrodiil or the swamps of Black Marsh.

It had been several months since the last attempt made on my life. For the first time in a very long while, I felt peace.

_This is the start, _I thought to myself. _You have earned your rest. Enjoy it._

I closed my eyes and immersed myself in the sounds of the encircling alpines. There were echoes of coyotes crying in the distance, amid the chirrups and cacophony of birds. Wind rustled through the pine coated branches of tress, blowing away wisps of snow like dust, howling as it passed my ears. I could faintly hear men talking and – what was the sound? Horse drawn carriage wheels grating along a stone pathway?

My eyes snapped open. Before drawing a second breath I was up in a crouch, my back against the trunk of a tree that stood between me and the source of the noise. I listened closely once more. The creaking and grinding of wheels continued. I had not mistaken my hearing. There were carriages nearby, several of them, amidst a company of men. I could not make out how many.

That needed to change.

I grabbed my belongings – a leather knapsack with supplies and essentials, along with my crossbow – and pulled a fur hood over my head, two holes cut in the back for my horns to fit through. Clenching the knife that rested on my belt, I slowly slinked toward the road and perched myself atop high bluffs of rocky hills. The traveling band would come from further up. I waited.

The morning fog still lingered, but I knew not for how long. I decided to avoid relying on it and maintain distance. My bright red skin would expose me in daylight and my dark clothes blended poorly with the snow. Challenging conditions for reconnaissance, but I'd dealt with worse.

Soon the wooden carriages faded into view. There were three, accompanied by horseback riders at the front and rear. Upon the horses and coaches sat soldiers, Imperial legionnaires, clad in armors of leather and steel with red cloth accents and swords at their sides. In the carts sat men and women, Nord natives of Skyrim, wearing leather mail with blue dye and brown furs. Their hands were bound. I took them to be prisoners of some kind, though I did not recognize their uniforms.

A particular cart caught my eye. Three men were sitting in it. One of them had long matted hair and a scraggly beard, platinum blonde. He was well built and wore the same uniform as the other captives. Across from him sat another man clothed in a regal fur-trimmed cloak, with thick boots on his feet and bracers on his arms. His brow hair was thrown back with a single braid tucked behind each ear. Strangely, he was gagged with a strip of cloth. None of the others had been muzzled in this manner. The third man wore a rough spun tunic, little more than a garb of rags. His face was covered in dirt.

"Shut up back there!"

The soldier driving their carriage barked back at the Nords. I remained uphill among the crags, now following the procession, straining to hear the sounds of conversation. To be true, I had no business meddling in the affair. Only my curiosity led me forward. The man in rags leaned over to the one who was gagged, saying something I could not make out. Then the Nord with blonde hair raised his voice indignantly.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king!"

That had my attention. I knew little about the structure of government in Skyrim, but I did know that the high king was said to be the sovereign ruler of the province. Under Imperial administration the position had become more of a figure head than anything else. Still, Skyrim's high king held great political power. Who was this man, Ulfric Stormcloak? I wanted to hear more. Risking my cover, I moved closer to the carriage, beginning to catch the words of the man in rags as he spoke to Ulfric.

"…of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But if they've captured you…"

I missed the last portion of the sentence. One of the soldiers riding rear guard glanced at the hill where I held my footing. I quickly withdrew behind a cluster of rocks. The fog was clearing and the coverings of snow were thinner. The carriages had headed further north, away from the base of the Jerall mountains toward greener woodlands. They were traveling to a village. In the distance I could see a stone gateway adjacent to walls of timber. The blonde man spoke once more.

"…don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

Sovngarde. The Nordic afterlife. I realized then that these were no mere carriages transporting convicts. They were tumbrils, filled with insurrectionists being led to their execution. Dawn began to break. I stayed my course, following the convoy as it neared the town's large wooden gates. There was a fork in the road with a sign bearing arrows, disclosing the destinations of each pathway.

The one that pointed ahead to the journey's end of the carriages read: _Helgen._


	3. Arc 1 - Chapter 2

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 2 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

Helgen was a peculiar town, settled in thin sheets of snow. The Throat of the World loomed in the north-eastern sky, an enormous alp stretching up to the clouds, the tallest peak in Tamriel. Nords dwelled in thatched wood shelters. The village's southern border was shielded by a mountain side, with the rest enclosed inside a cobbled stone stronghold. Watch towers served as garrisons for the Imperial Legion.

This place, Helgen, was well fortified.

Men and women emerged from their hearths, stepping out into the chill air as carts full of captives were paraded through the town. Children were shoed inside, their insistence on watching the spectacle ignored by the good intentions of their parents. The mountain face had provided a point of access into the village, largely unguarded. I remained close to the scene, slipping past the eyes of Imperial sentinels patrolling walls and parapets. Shrouded in shadow behind a Nordic house, I watched the unfolding affair.

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting!"

An archer upon one of the garrisons called out to his commander resting on the back of a chestnut horse. I studied the man, an Imperial, aged features lining his stern austere countenance. His skin was tanner than that of the Nords, as is common for natives of Cyrodiil or other southern provinces. He wore a head of balding grey hair and a suit of brilliant leather armor embroidered with gold.

"Good," Tullius called back to the soldier, "let's get this over with."

In front of the general were two Altmer on horseback wearing black trench coats. The tall yellow-skinned elves were clearly Thalmor, agents of the Aldmeri Dominion. Even in Skyrim their presence persisted.

_They would not be involved in this matter unless it pertained to the White-Gold Concordat,_ I brooded. _This is more serious than I thought…_

Tullius spoke to the elves. "Tell Elenwen that her concerns have been noted, but my duty is to Emperor. The rebellion ends today. We are commencing the executions here in Helgen."

The general turned his horse and began trotting toward the convoy as it parked in Helgen's square. Displeased by some turn of event, the two Thalmor withdrew down a northern road. I darted between the backs of buildings, stopping at a narrow alley between a stone tower and an inn. The mountain stood at my back. A high ranking officer ordered the unloading of the prisoners. The man in sack cloth, sitting in the back of the now still carriage, looked panicked.

"Why are we stopping?" he asked the blonde Nord beside him. An Imperial soldier began calling out names, book and quill in hand. The captives were checked off by title and gathered around a headsman's block.

"Why do you think? End of the line," the blonde man said as he stepped off the cart. His name had been announced. He was Ralof, of Riverwood.

"No, I'm not a rebel! They can't do this!" the ragged Nord clamored as he jumped down from his seat. He was Lokir, of Roriskstead. Ralof maintained a calm demeanor despite Lokir's dismay.

"Face your death with some courage, horse thief."

"You've got to tell them, I wasn't with you! This is a mistake!"

Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, was called last. The prisoners in uniform looked upon their leader. His face was solemn, expression half-hid by the gag that covered his mouth. Soon all were marshalled to the headsman, with the general and his officers standing by. A large tower loomed over the square, bowmen lining its battlements. Villagers looked on from the porches of their homes. I watched in silence.

Tullius walked up to Ulfric with a dour look in his eyes.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he began, "some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Ulfric muttered something behind his gag, seemingly in protest. The general continued.

"You started this war! Plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

A roar echoed suddenly from the snow whipped face of the Throat of the World. Those at the gathering were startled, turning their heads toward the noise. It was disturbing, carrying an almost metallic ring. No creature known to me could bellow such a shout. One of the soldiers turned to his general.

"Sir, what was that?" he asked, hinting concern. Tullius kept his composure.

"It's nothing. Carry on," the commander replied. It seemed to him this business was too important to interrupt.

A high ranking officer in steel plated armor stepped up and saluted. She turned to greet the figure of a priestess walking toward them, dressed a modest orange robe. She was to present the prisoners their last rites. The thin priestess bowed, her face partly covered by her hood. Standing before the captive Nords, she extended her hands toward the sky.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius," she prayed, "blessings of the eight divines be upon you! For you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our–"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"

A prisoner had brazenly stepped forward, cutting off the priestess' speech.

"As you wish," the woman scorned.

The red-headed Nord was dragged to the block by two soldiers nearby. He continued to hurl insults, spitting in the faces of the Imperials. The headsman was a brute of a man, wearing a black sack-cloth mask and sleeveless chain-mail armor. He held in his hands a wicked axe as large as he was tall. Shoved down upon a slab of wood, the prisoner uttered one final remark of defiance:

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

He managed a grin before the blade of the axe came down, lodging squarely between his neck and shoulders. The man's head rolled off into a basket. Blood shot from the gaping plateau where his head used to be. The steel armored officer kicked aside his headless corpse as spectators shouted reproaches and praise.

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Justice!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

It pained me to see lives end so viciously, but I knew nothing of the circumstances behind these executions. Intervention was ill advised. I hissed under my breath condolences to the deceased. The armored officer pointed at Lokir.

"Next, the Nord in the rags!" she declared. The gaunt man was livid with fear, trembling. His legs twitched with the urge to chance flight.

Then the roar came again, echoing from the cliffs. It sounded closer. The gathering of people turned toward the sky. That was all the distraction Lokir needed. The horse thief, hands bound, bolted from the crowd toward the back alleyway – where I was hiding. I scuttled behind the tower to my left, teeth clenched, crouching against the wall. The armored officer barked out orders.

Just as Lokir reached the end of the, ally he turned and saw me, hesitating. A confused and startled look crossed his face. I opened my mouth to speak.

An arrow struck him upside the head. He crumpled to the ground.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the Imperial officer goaded.

I swore. They would send someone to retrieve Lokir's body. Leaving the way I came would not conceal me as it did before. The village sentries were on alert. Lokir's attempted getaway had trapped me. I would have to climb the mountain to reach the outside of the village and risk being spotted.

_Xhuth… This venture was foolish_. _I should have left the carriages alone._

I gently inched around the circumference of the watchtower, my back pressed against its cold hard stone. Before I could act I needed to see what the soldiers would do next. I peered out once more toward the town center.

The roar sounded a third time. I threw a glance at the distant mountains.

A winged leviathan thirty feet in span, cast with serrated scales as black as shadow, dove from a cliff and soared toward the town on a gust of wind. I held my breath.

"What in Oblivion is _that_!?" Tullius shouted. The monster in the sky flew with unthinkable speed toward the village of Helgen. With a beat of its wings, it lifted up into the air and landed on the tower of archers overlooking the square. Men were crushed under its weight.

There the awful creature perched. Long and glossy talons hung over the tower's battlements. Its face was angular, reptilian, not so different from my own, with long crooked horns jetting back from its head. A thick tail dangled at its rear. Razor-like teeth bore from its snarl. Its eyes were blood red, faintly glowing, with slit pupils as dark and inky as the rest of its hide.

Soldiers stumbled backward. Others drew their swords. People screamed. Before chaos erupted, a woman's cry gave name to the terror that stood before us.

"Dragon!"


	4. Arc 1 - Chapter 3

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 3 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

From the dragon's maw came a menacing shout.

"KREN… SOS AL!"

It rang out with power enough to shake the nirn beneath our feet. The beast took to the air with a stroke of its wings and circled the town as a hackwing circles its prey. Ears ringing, I bent my gaze aloft to see dark red clouds blot out the sun, forming a cyclone in the sky that whirled violently. Flares of light exploded from the haze as sweltering fireballs reigned down upon the village. Stone towers crumbled, homes were torn asunder, and trees set ablaze. The screams of panicked Nords and Imperials cut off one by one as the dead mounted in number.

I stood paralyzed as the world around me fell apart.

The dragon flew and assaulted the village of Helgen, unleashing fire from its very breath. This order of being was like nothing I had ever seen before. Legionnaires were madly attacking the beast, frantic and disorganized, while General Tullius hollered orders to protect the town's people.

A meteor struck the tower above me. Its explosion knocked me over. I slowly recovered myself, feeling a trickle of warm blood run down my muzzle. I beheld the scene in the village square. Men and women lay dead, Imperials and Stormcloaks alike, their bodies consumed by combustion or gored. One of them was still moving – dazed but very much alive. It was Ralof.

I ran to him, tail swaying in counted measure with my legs. I refused to remain a spectator to this madness. Coming to a halt, I knelt down before the Nord and pulled at his arm.

"Get up!" I yelled. "Come on! There's no time!"

Ralof reeled at the sight of a clawed hand grasping him. I imagine a reptilian creature with sharp teeth and scales was the last thing he wished to see. Fortunately for him, this one was on his side. Ralof looked to the clouds above, his eyes reflecting a glint of light. I snapped my own gaze skyward. A fireball was plunging toward us.

I stood and shot my arm upward, palm outstretched. Pale blue light shimmered as a shield of magicka expanded over us.

The meteor struck. My ward held against its force. Had there been any physical matter within that fireball, my ward would not have protected us. It can only block magic. Unharmed, if not somewhat shaken, I dropped my spell and pulled Ralof up, drawing my knife from its scabbard. I cut loose the binds on his wrists, frantically searching for a place to take shelter. My sights set on the tower that had been my hiding spot earlier. It was damaged but still standing, doorway open. Ralof and I glanced at each other.

"Can you run?" I asked.

He began sprinting to the tower.

Seeing my question answered, I ran close behind him. We burst through the entrance, slamming shut the wooden door behind us. A small company of Stormcloaks had gathered inside. Two were lying on the ground, seriously wounded. Among those still standing was Ulfric, ungagged and unbound.

"Who are you!?" one of the rebels barked at me. He had been tending the injured and approached me with a dagger. I readied my claws in defense. Ralof suddenly seized the man's arm and restrained him.

"Control yourself, dammit! This Argonian saved my life," Ralof exclaimed angrily. He released his grip, turning to me. "I'd wager that makes him a friend. No pox of the empire would risk his hide to save a Stormcloak."

The other man grumbled and withdrew. I remained silent. Ralof's visage grew solemn as he drew to his leader.

"Jarl Ulfric," he said, "what is that thing? Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied, peering out of a knothole in the cobblestone wall. Without his gag, the man wore a thick goatee upon his face. His expression was grave. Ulfric shifted away from the window and faced his men.

"We need to move, now!"

"Does this tower lead anywhere?" I asked.

"No," answered one of the injured Nords, her voice hoarse as she clutched her side. "A wall collapsed above, blocking the stairway. The only way out is the way you came in."

"Kaah… I was afraid of that," I muttered.

"Then let's clear out of here," Ralof said. "We'll use the buildings for cover!"

"And go where?" I replied. "None of us can outrun that monster. We will all be dead by the time we reach the gates."

"And if we stay here, it'll bring the whole tower down on our heads!"

The tower began to shake as loose debris fell from the ceiling. A raucous roar followed.

"Fair point," I relented, minding the stones above me. "What about the wounded?"

The man who had approached me with a dagger hoisted up an injured Stormcloak, slinging her arm over his shoulder.

"We'll carry them with us," he declared. "No one is getting left behind."

Ulfric went to another wounded man and did the same.

"Ralof, you know Helgen better than us," he said. "Lead the way. We'll follow you."

"Right, I'm on it!" Ralof replied. He went to the door to grasp its handle, glancing back. "You coming, Argonian? Might need that magic of yours again."

"Of course," I spoke coolly, nodding once. "Let's tread swiftly."

The hinges of the door swung open wide as everyone in the tower filed out. Acrid scents of charring flesh filled the air, thick with dust and smoke. Piles of rubble from buildings and fallen towers blockaded the streets. Fireballs no longer fell but the storm clouds above still remained. The dragon was attacking indiscriminately. We kept our eyes on the sky as Ralof led us into the nearby inn.

"We'll have to cut through here to reach the gates," he said.

The building was on fire, supports and framework badly damaged. Rooms once used for lodging ignited like tinder. Ralof and I led , skirting ahead past broken furniture to push aside beams of splintered wood. Searing heat filled the halls, strewn burning bodies. Everyone had begun to break out in sweat, save for myself.

"Keep moving!" I shouted to the others. "We've cleared the way–"

"TOOR SHUL!"

A gout of fire blasted down through the roof above. Ralof and I jumped back. The dragon had passed over the inn, its breath of flame cutting a swath straight through the middle. Ulfric and his Stormcloaks were separated on the other side of the blaze. Ralof called out to them.

"We're all alive!" Ulfric hollered. "Keep going! We'll follow you when we can!"

Ralof hesitated. I pulled at his armor.

"This inn's coming down!" I yelled. "We have to get clear!"

Thatched roofing began to concave as the building combusted. We dove out of the inn by another entrance and got back on the path outside. The dragon was hovering in place in the distance, kept airborne by a constant flapping of its wings. Lightning bolts were being volleyed at the monster by Imperial battle mages out of view. Their strikes glanced off of its scales, leaving naught a single scorch or burn. Uttering another incantation, the dragon's voice became an exhale of flame. The cries of men and women echoed beyond a backdrop of blazing buildings.

"We're close. The gates are over this rise," I said, pointing to where the dragon had been floating.

"Forget the gates," Ralof barked. "The Imperials are holding them! Their mages won't take pity on us."

I winced. Upon hearing this, I was abruptly more aware of the fact that I was helping an Imperial captive escape capital punishment. I had become, as far as the empire concerned, a criminal accomplice.

"Then where do we go?" I snapped.

"Let's try the north road! I know the way," Ralof replied.

We rushed on, pressing ourselves against a stone wall that connected tower garrisons, avoiding the open. As we neared what appeared to be a burned out house, we came to a halt. An Imperial soldier ran through the scorched ruin, its remains a skeleton of wood, to the aid of a comrade caught under a fallen bookstand.

"Get on your feet!" the legionnaire said, stooping down to lift up the wooden shelves. "Tullius gave the order. We're leaving! Everyone's heading to the keep!"

I had a mind to help the men, against all better judgment, but the dragon quickly appeared and perched itself on the wall above Ralof and I. The creature's neck loomed just over our heads, wings folded abreast, meshed with veins like strands of a spider web. We held our breaths. Another shout, another burst of fire, coupled with the shrieks of the dying soldiers. Dust upheaved into the air as the dragon took flight. I turned to Ralof.

"Did you hear that?" I half asked, half coughed.

"I did," Ralof replied.

"The keep he spoke of – where is it?"

"Beyond the other side of this wall, if I remember right. It's a stronghold. Why?"

"The soldier said they were _leaving._ That keep must have an escape route!"

The dragon flew overheard. We flinched at its passing.

"You sure about that, Argonian?"

"The Imperials would not regroup inside a building the dragon could tear down. They're no fools."

Ralof caught on to my line of thinking. We needed to reach that keep.

"Alright then," he muttered. "Tell me how we're going to get there without being shot at or burned to death."

I scouted the dragon's position. It was circling high above, no doubt seeking its next kill. A portion of wall near us had crumbled away, blocking further passage behind the buildings. The rubble, however, looked easy to climb.

"While the dragon is high in the air, we'll use this collapse of rock to scale the wall and sprint toward the keep," I said. "The soldiers will be too focused on the beast to bother with us."

Ralof looked incredulous. "That's quite a gamble, Argonian. What happens if the keep is swarming with Imperials?"

"It's either them or the dragon," I growled. "We can fight one but not the other."

The Nord grumbled to himself.

"Ysmir's beard… I hope you've thought this through!"

I had. The thoughts gave me no comfort.

We waited for the dragon to attack again. It swooped down to another wall further away. The dragon opened its wings and snatched an Imperial archer in its talons. Ralof and I began our run, clambering up the rubble. As we reached the top of the wall I caught a glimpse of the dragon before dropping off. It let loosed grip at high altitude, sending the archer plummeting down to the cliffs below. I shuddered at the sight.

The two of us dashed at breakneck speeds toward the keep. It was a fortress build beside a spire of mountain rock, made of the same cobble as Helgen's walls. Smolder, fumes, and the sounds of a dying battle enveloped us. The adrenaline was inundating. My only thought was to reach the keep before the dragon could cut us off. Ralof had a good start and reached the door first. He turned back, alarmed.

The dragon landed behind me. Its impact sent a quake through the ground. I stumbled and fell, skidding across the gravel. I pulled myself up and looked behind me. The black beast appeared through a clearing of dust. Our gazes locked. Its glowing red eyes were filled with malice.

Of the many people the dragon sought to kill, it seemed I had the honor of being next to die.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

_The Shout Alduin uses at the start of this chapter exists in the game, but there are no official words for it. I decided to fill that gap and create my own words of power, for both story and literary reasons. Just to be more authentic, the words themselves are actual words in the dragon language._


	5. Arc 1 - Chapter 4

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 4 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

Ahhh! You know what's better than traveling? Traveling when the weather's fair! No clouds, no rain, just the wind and the sun on your skin. Life's simple pleasures.

I was off on the road to Whiterun. Word came to Riverwood that the city got attacked by a dragon. They managed to kill it, thank the gods. Couldn't bear the thought of another settlement getting burned to the ground. I went to investigate the aftermath. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn something that'd help me make more sense of Helgen. My return to Cyrodiil would stay on hold for a while.

Carrying the sack of my family's old belongings like a peddler, I followed the roads and river brook that lead to the city gates. Couldn't have asked for a better morning! Blue butterflies fluttered over flowers and tundra cotton. Sweet scents of mead and honey drifted in the air from a brewery. In the distance a windmill spun gently, looming over a quiet vegetable farm. Two workers were out in the fields, running for their lives from a raging giant.

A giant.

"Shore's bones!" I startled.

It was tearing up the farm with a massive club, wrecking crops, barrels and animal pens! Couldn't tell if the day'd gotten worse or better. I dropped my bag and ran to the scene. The gangly brute must've been eight feet tall, with a thick mangy beard and crude garbs of mammoth fur. A pair of guards led the farmers to safety and hunkered behind a brick fence, aged to the point where it sunk into the ground.

One of the guards started off for the city. I crouched down beside the other who stayed.

"Damn! Never seen a giant throw a tantrum before!" I exclaimed, glancing at the guard. "You?"

He stared at me for a few seconds, eyes hidden behind a helm of steel.

"Are you here to help, kinsman?" he asked.

"No, I'm fleeing for my life."

The man didn't care for my sarcasm.

"I won't turn down an extra blade," he said. "We just have to wait for Rolf and the rest of the south wall guard..."

"Waiting? Who has time for waiting?" I retorted. "That farm is somebody's livelihood! Somebody's home!"

"It'll take more than two men to save it."

"Come on, don't be a milk drinker," I scoffed, slapping the guard on his back. "It's one giant. We can distract him till help arrives – keep the crops and animals safe!"

"I nearly died fighting a dragon, kinsman! I'm not dying for a field of cabbage!"

I frowned at the guard. "Well _I'm _going. You gonna sit here while a brother Nord fights the giant alone?"

Hearing that, the man swore under his breath and brought a longbow to bear. I knew he'd come around. No son of Skyrim backs down from a fight. I vaulted over the wall and drew my greatsword.

"Woah, hold on there!" the guard exclaimed, seeing Angi's bow on my back. "What's the matter? You got no arrows!?"

"I've got _this_," I said, gripping my weapon. "That's all I need. You handle the archery. I'll give him something to swing at."

"That sounds like a really bad idea!"

"Oh, trust me," I replied with a smirk, "I always have bad ideas."

I rushed out into the open field. The guard stayed behind, taking aim. That giant was tearing up a coop of chickens, sending wood, straw, and feathers flying everywhere. The guard loosed an arrow. It landed square in the giant's back. He grunted, glaring over his shoulder.

"Yeah, that's right!" I goaded, waving the giant to me. "Come here! Try and break _this_, you big ugly bastard!"

The giant stretched out a long, low grumble. He slowly wound up a tempo of steps, tramping toward me with gaping leaps, club raised overhead. I swear to you the ground _shook _with every stride it made.

_Ho boy, _I thought to myself, _he looks a lot bigger up close…_

The fiend swung down hard to the ground, throwing up dirt as I dodged out of the way. The force behind that club could've easily crushed the bones in my body. No chance I'd block any blows in this fight. An arrow flew and struck the giant in his chest. That was two hits. Didn't look like they fazed him much, though. A third arrow whizzed by my ear, making me flinch as it narrowly missed my head and sunk into the giant's arm.

"_Hey_! Aim for the giant, not _me_!" I hollered back. "You trying to – woah!"

A massive palm swung to knock me over. I ducked a hair's width under it and gambled a thrust, jabbing the tip of my blade into the giant's chest. It grunted in pain and backed away. I recovered my footing, laughing in the face of near death.

"Hahaha! You like dancing close to the fire!?"

The guard landed another hit on the giant's collar. It's body was bristled with about a half dozen arrows. Damn hardy, that one. It looked enraged, ignoring any pain it felt. I think it knew it was going to die. No deadlier foe than one who's backed into a corner.

The giant started swinging with vigor, which left me hopping around like a rabbit. You know how hard it is to keep your feet fast in steel plates? I clenched my jaws, trying to find a way into the giant's space without getting flattened. Another arrow punctured its chest. Only it wasn't from the guard. I looked behind me. A pair of warriors had come to join the fight.

"What are you waiting for!?" a woman called out, lowering her bow. "The legs! Go for its legs!"

"What?" I stammered, looking back at the giant's boney lower limbs. They were tall and slender, like birch trees waiting for the woodcutting axe. "Oh! The legs, got it! Good plan!"

But how was I supposed to get close?

Well, turns out that was the easy part. A burly dark haired man wielding a greatsword of his own rushed the giant. He was a big guy, bigger than _me_. I followed his lead. The two of us circled about at different angles. If the giant struck at one, the other had an opening. The fiend couldn't fend us both off. It was big and strong but slow on the draw. I waited for the giant to lash at the man and charged. With a powerful two-handed swing I slammed my blade into the back of its leg, cleaving half-way through the bone. The giant dropped to its knees with a heavy thud.

And that was that. The burly man brought down his sword and sliced the giant's head clean off, execution style. Its headless corpse slumped in a heap. I heaved out a breath, heart still pounding from the thrill of the fight, and grinned at the man who fought beside me. He grinned back. Seemed like one of those strong silent types.

"Well met! Glad you both could join the fun." I rubbed my sore ankle. "Augh… Can't say I make a habit of frisking with giants."

"They're best fought from a distance, you know," the woman from before said to us both as she came near.

_Trolls blood, but that voice sounds…_

I craned to the side and gawped.

_…attractive!_

Rich auburn hair. Fierce, grey eyes. A prime physique. Gods, who _was _this!? A woman after Shor's own heart? I was smitten. She looked as fierce as she was beautiful. Sure, she had a masculine air to her features; a chiseled jawline, rough skin. But the way she carried herself, graceful and confident… That's more captivating than any soft face.

"Were you hoping to bring down a giant all by yourself?" she asked me.

"Ha… ah, not really," I said, wiping my brow, "but I sure wasn't gonna pass up the chance to fight one!"

"Oh, I'm not criticizing. I would have done the same," she replied. "Glory only awaits those who triumph."

"Aye. The best victories are always hard fought." A grin widened on my face. "Sounds like you don't settle for small game."

Her expression became emotionless.

"Depends on the prey," she replied, "I find often that size rarely matters."

I walked right into that one.

The woman's eyes glossed over me before fixing on something rested at my side. I tried to follow her line of sight. What was she looking at? My hand?

The ring of Hircine?

"Hey, so uh… who are you all anyway?" I blurted, burying the ring in my folded arms. "You with the Jarl's guard?"

Speaking of guards, the one who helped me fight the giant came to address the woman.

"Hail, Companions!" he greeted, raising a fist to his heart, "I knew Rolf would send for aid. Didn't think I was worth a rescue from _you_, though."

"Think nothing of it. We go where the hunt is," she said. "Those soft guts wouldn't have been much help to you."

"Wait a minute… Companions?" I startled, eyes darting between the two warriors. "_The_ Companions!?"

The woman looked at me. "Heard of us, eh?"

"_Heard of you!? _You're the warriors of Ysgramor! Gods, I completely forgot! I'm in Whiterun!"

That meant the home of Jorrvaskr, the Companions' mead hall. When I was a lad, my ma would tell stories about the Companions. All the nights I'd beg her for one more song or battle…

I grew up on tales of men like Skjor, Kodlak, and Askar the Harbinger. True warriors of valor. Their traditions stretch back to the days of Skyrim's first settlers from the continent of Atmora. The Companions are to Skyrim what knights are to Cyrodiil. The stuff of boyhood dreams and true life legend.

Ysmir's beard! I'd fought alongside the Companions! Against a giant! For as old as I was, the child in me whooped with excitement, wishing he could run home to tell his mother what he'd done.

"I take it you're not an outsider?" the woman remarked with curiosity. I was falling head over heels for that voice of hers. She hadn't smiled even once, though. I started wondering if she could.

"Nope," I avowed, chin held high. "I'm as Nordly as a Nord can get. Just been… traveling around. First time I've come back to Skyrim in years."

"Looks like you're getting a proper welcome, then. I hope the rest of your travels will be as fulfilling," she replied, turning to her comrade. "Come on, Farkas. The Jarl's men can clean this mess."

She set off to leave. That's when the burly man spoke up.

"Aela, wait," Farkas said, turning to me. "What brings you to Whiterun, stranger?"

"_Now_ you decide to speak?" the woman quipped.

"I… heard something about a dragon attack," I said, surprised by the question. "Came here to find answers."

"To what?" Aela asked.

"Anything. Helgen was destroyed by a dragon. That makes two attacks I know of. I need to find out if there's a connection, besides the obvious…"

"The dragon we fought acted like any predator from the wild," the woman said. "There may not have been a special reason for the attack."

I looked away. "Maybe I just _want_ a special reason… I want to make sense of Helgen. My family died there."

Aela rested a hand on her hip. "Ah. So it's vengeance you're looking for."

"Only if there's someone responsible. Or some_thing_."

"You would fight a dragon?" Farkas asked.

"For my family? Yeah," I said, "I'd fight one gladly."

"Assuming you actually stood a chance," the woman said. I'm convinced she thought me a fool. The man, on the other hand, had a different opinion.

"Aela. I like this one," Farkas said. "He should come back with us. He'd make a good Companion."

_What did he just say!? _

Let me tell you, I wasn't ready for that. It came out of nowhere. Aela raised an eyebrow at her stalwart shield-brother.

"Really? You think he's worth it?"

The woman stopped for a moment to inspect me again – a fresh assessment, in light of her friend's suggestion.

"Hmm… I suppose we've taken worse. You did handle yourself well," she said. "So? You heard him. What do you have to say?"

I'm supposed to speak when asked a question. You'd have thought I didn't know that.

"Are you telling me… I can _join you_?" I eventually said.

"No," Aela spoke flatly. "Not for us to say. You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane, up at Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can tell your worth."

_Kodlak? Is he the Harbinger now?_ I supposed he'd gotten pretty old, huh? I'd have been a young boy when I first heard of him. He was a big name among the Companions back then.

But never mind that! I'd all but forgotten the reason I came to Whiterun in the first place. The day had suddenly soared beyond my wildest imagination. I was invited to Jorrvaskr to be a Companion! That… that just doesn't happen! Not to people like me! Or so I thought.

"What are we standing here for, then!? Lead on!" I exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm. The two warriors exchanged looks and made for the city gates. I followed close behind.

I'd always wanted to see Jorrvaskr! A trip from Helgen wouldn't have been grueling but we never had an excuse to travel. Come to think of it, there was a lot of Skyrim I hadn't seen. _What if I get accepted? I'll get to travel all across the province!_ If only my family were still around. They would have been ecstatic to hear about all this. I can picture it now. I'd walk through the front door, dust my feet off on that old goat-skin rug, rush to the kitchen and find my uncle cooking some…

_I left my bag back on the road, didn't I?_

"Ah, wait! I just remembered! I left something, uh…" I spun back, pointing, "back there… somewhere…" I started trotting in reverse as I spoke. "You two go ahead! Go on! I'll catch up!" The Companions watched me jog away, puzzled.

_Great first impression, _I groaned to myself. I knew after that moment that I was in for a rough time. I'd have to prove my worth to the Companions. No easy feat. But I would try! Oh you bet I would! _Especially_ around that woman, Aela. I wasn't done with her. A shame I didn't have much in the way of finesse.

Bah, I'm more substance over style anyway.

~ooooo~

The first thing I took stock of when I stepped into Jorrvaskr was a huge pit of burning coals, a center piece to herald warmth and relaxation. The hall had finished wood-work, lush red carpets, tables lined with silver dining ware, elaborate banners and weapons on display. Walls were decorated with shields, animal pelts, and taxidermy heads of impressive game. The room smelled of sweat mead.

That was all the first thing. The second thing I noticed was two people beating the cheese out of each other.

"Just keep swinging!"

"Watch the eyes!"

"Twelve Septims on the girl! Look at that speed!"

Ringed by a small crowd of barking spectators – fellow Companions or maid servants, if I had to wager – a woman and a Dark Elf were locked in a fistfight, spitting curses and swinging their knuckles at each other like there was no tomorrow.

"Those two at it again…?" Aela said beside me. I couldn't keep a smile off my face. I'd spent all of five seconds in Jorrvaskr and I already loved the place.

"Oof. That one's got a chip on her shoulder," I said, tilting my head to get a better view of the girl in the scrap. "You see that? Nobody throws a punch like that unless they're trying to break a jaw. What'd that elf do?"

"It's anybody's guess," Aela sighed. "Ysgramor himself wouldn't have the patience to deal with all the rabble around here."

She didn't seem to mind the entertainment, though. The woman went off to join the crowd, eyeing me as I followed.

"Shouldn't you be going somewhere?" she said.

I pouted. "What, I can't stay and watch?"

"Your choice. But I wouldn't waste time. Kodlak tends to keep himself busy."

"Right… um…" I looked around. "Where do I…?"

"The living quarters," she replied, gesturing her head toward the opposite side of the hall, "Downstairs. He should be there."

"Great! I'll be back."

Heading over to and down the steps, I tried to shake off the tingling in my spine. It bothered me. _Come on, man! You face down a giant and THIS is what scares you?_ No way to make light of it, really. Kodlak Whiteman was a warrior of renown. Or, well, he was in my youth. Sometimes the impressions you get when you're young, though, stick with you the longest. What was I compared to him? Compared to anybody else in Jorvaskr? That man Farkas seemed to want me around. Suppose I had _that_ going for me.

I passed open rooms with beds and dresser drawers down the length of a long, candle lit hallway. It was an arched tunnel of brick and wood. Very quiet. The carpet and furniture made things homely, but the lower floor felt more like a dungeon compared to the hall up top. I peeked into each room as I passed. Nobody around, 'cept for a wrinkly old maid sweeping the floor. I cleared my throat, coming to a closed doorway at the end of the stretch.

"But I still hear the call of the blood…"

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

Sounded like a conversation was going on the other side. I leaned in closer. I could hear two men, the first one younger than the other. One of them was probably Kodlak. Probably.

_How long are they gonna be in there?_

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

_Should I knock on the door?_

"Leave that to me."

_Yeah. Let's knock on the door. _

I knocked. The door swung open on its hinges. It hadn't been shut properly. I stared blankly as the two men turned their eyes to me.

_Dammit._

"Who are you supposed to be?" the young man asked. He looked an awful lot like Farkas. The older man had a thick beard almost the length of his head and long grey hair tossed back. Both seemed to have just gotten back from some trip, wearing underclothing with suits of grey steel armor set aside.

"A stranger has come to our hall," the old one said. Though on in years, he looked robust. The man was definitely Kodlak. I set my bag down by the doorframe.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to interrupt your heartfelt chat, here. The door wasn't closed."

"Looked pretty closed to me," the Farkas lookalike grunted.

"Well… sure. But it wasn't."

The man folded his arms, a clear lack of amusement on his face.

"Hmph. So another ambitious visitor?" he snorted, more to the old man than to me. "You think you can just wander in here and join us?"

"What makes you say that's what I'm here for?" I said for argument's sake.

"It is painfully obvious, lad," Kodlak replied, relaxing in his seat. "But you're here now. Come in. We were just finishing."

I stepped into the room. There were maps scrawled over a desk and shelves cluttered with books. The two men sat by an end table, treating themselves to a bottle of alto wine. A troll's skull rested on a stand near the doorway among display cases filled with other trophies.

"You must be Kodlak Whitemane," I said, smiling. "I've heard a lot about you."

"All good, I trust," the old man replied, returning a smile of his own. "Who might you be?"

"Reinhardt. Just call me Reinhardt."

"Well then, Reinhardt, what brings you to Jorrvaskr?"

"Ah, right. I suppose… I'm here to see if you'll take me. As a Companion. There was a giant destroying a farm just outside the city. I helped two of your fellows fight it…"

"Giants are docile," the young man interrupted. "They would never bother anyone near the walls unless provoked. Why was it attacking?"

"Beats me. Does it matter? After we killed it, I was invited here by someone named Farkas… along with a woman, Aela. They'll vouch for my story."

"My _brother _invited you here?" the man said in disbelief.

I beamed. "So he_ is_ your brother! I thought you two looked alike."

"This is Vilkas," Kodlak said, cutting off the man before he could speak further. "He and his brother are two of our finest warriors. If Farkas is willing to vouch for your presence, that speaks a great volume." He beckoned with a wave of his hand. "Here, let me have a look at you."

I came closer, sweating as the Harbinger studied me intensely. Those eyes of his were strong and deep. He was the alpha-male all right. And I was the whelp trying to squeeze into the pack.

_What happens after this? What does a man have to do to join the Companions?_

Kodlak shuffled in his seat.

"Hmm… Yes. Perhaps. A certain strength of spirit," he said. "I think you would fit in well around here."

_Wait… that's it!? Does that mean I'm in!? _

I don't know what I was expecting.

Vilkas stirred. "Master, you're not truly considering accepting him?"

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas," Kodlak retorted with a mildly scolding tone, "and last I checked, we have some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

The young man wilted. "Apologies… But perhaps this isn't the time…"

"I cannot picture a better time than now," the old man said. "In case you've forgotten, dragons have returned. The need for able warriors will be greater than ever. Trained or raw, it makes no difference who steps into our hall."

Kodlak gave me a firm faced glare.

"What matters is their heart."

"And their arm," Vilkas added insistently.

"Of course," the Harbinger smiled again. "How are you in battle, boy?"

"Oh… I can hold my own," I replied. "But I'm sure there's plenty I could learn from all of you. Kinda exciting, actually."

"That's the spirit," Kodlak said. He glanced at the young man. "Vilkas, take this one out to the yard and see what he can do."

Vilkas complied, standing up from his seat. He brushed past me and went down the hall, minding me about as much as a mammoth minds a skeever. _Somebody's a grouch today, _I thought to myself as I caught up beside him.

"Hey. We don't have a problem, do we?" I asked.

"The old man thinks you've got something worthwhile to offer," Vilkas said as we walked. "I won't be the one who questions his judgment."

"At least give me the chance to prove myself," I replied. "Nine willing, maybe I'll surprise you."

The two of us went on in awkward silence. I don't like awkward silences.

"So…" I started.

Vilkas sighed. "Figured you would have questions. Can they wait until after we're done?"

"Did you fight the dragon that attacked the city?" I asked anyway.

"Yes," the man said, "as did most of us here in Jorrvaskr. Those who weren't off elsewhere in Skyrim."

"Tell me, how did you kill it?"

"Wasn't I who killed it, new blood. That glory wasn't taken by any Companion."

_New blood? Ysmir, I really did_ _make it, didn't I…_

"Who, then?"

Vilkas looked ready to say something, before he stopped and said something else.

"It was the Dragonborn."

"What…!?" I exclaimed softly, wide-eyed. "The Dragonborn was here!?"

"He killed the beast and took its soul. I watched him do it with my own eyes. That was moments before the Greybeards called for him."

"By Shor! That's incredible!" I said, filled with awe and mirth at the thought. "Did you speak with the man? What was he like?"

"We didn't converse much... He seemed unwavering, reckless even, charging into battle without regard for himself. Beyond that I cannot speak for his personality." Vilkas paused. "But he _was_ passionate, and fought against the dragon bravely."

The man gave me a funny look as we reached the stairs. "You might want to discard your thought of him as a 'man,' by the way."

"Eh? Why?" I asked. "Was he a woman?"

"No, that's not..." Vilkas rummaged for the right words. "I mean the Dragonborn wasn't _of men_. He was an Argonian."

I stopped. A bubble of laughter upped out of me.

"Ha! Ah, for a second there I thought you said that the _Dragonborn_… was a…"

Vilkas kept a straight face. My mirth became bewilderment.

"Woah now… You mind, uh, running that by me one more time?"


	6. Arc 1 - Chapter 5

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 5 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

"Zu'u Alduin. Zok sahrot do naan ko Lein!"

The black dragon snarled at me. Its voice was deep and strident. I dashed toward the keep and called for Ralof to clear the door.

"Nus two ni qiilaan fen kos bonaar!"

As I ran, I pivoted back to outstretch my arm, casting another ward. The dragon prepared to unleash its fire. I wore a look of fury, brow drawn low and fangs bared, as though to try and match the dragon's terror with my own. I knew my spell was weak and would falter against the monster's breath. Yet I was impelled to oppose the great beast, to deny it this one kill.

"YOL… TOOR SHUL!"

The dragon's metallic roar uttered forth, fire cascading from its maw with frightening speed. I burst through the keep's entrance as flames collided with my ward. It shattered instantly, sending a shock of pain down the length of my arm. Before the fire could reach me, Ralof slammed shut the keep's entrance. I staggered and fell to the floor on my hands and knees. Ralof held his weight against the door as the dragon's breath subsided.

Silence deadened the room. Ralof and I looked at each other, our faces beaming. I stifled a laugh. We were still alive.

But there was no time to revel in our triumph. A quake and tumbling of rubble from the rafters reminded us that the dragon was still outside. Something caught Ralof's eye as I came to my feet. He rushed to the back of the cylindrical room and knelt down by a Stormcloak's body, lying motionless in front of a table. Blood pooled from the dead man's side. The Imperials must have caught him.

"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother," Ralof lamented, lingering before he spoke again. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it this far."

He stood, facing me as I walked near. A chandelier high overhead cast a shadow thrice its size upon the floor. Mounted heads of deer, elk, and bears eyed us with fake glossy pupils. I peered to my right at a black iron gate leading to a downward bending stairwell. The gate was swung open, showing signs of forced entry.

"Don't be so sure of that," I said. "We were not the first to come through here. There may still be others further ahead."

I pulled back my fur hood, ruffling the dark brown feathers that grew on my head in the space between my horns.

"You think Ulfric and the others made it?" Ralof asked.

"Impossible to say, but they're on their own now," I said, looking sternly at Ralof. "We cannot afford to wait for them."

The Nord let out a resigning sigh.

"You don't need to tell me that. It'll take more than a dragon to kill Ulfric Stormcloak," he said. "Let's get out of here!"

We went through the gate and made our way underground. The hallway that greeted us bellow was dimly lit by metal framed torches. Cold mortar and stone confined us. I despise tight spaces. The ceiling shook and a small chunk of rock fell, slipping off of my collar before clattering on the floor. The dragon was still trying to tear down the keep.

At the time, though, my thoughts were more occupied with the Imperials. I hoped against all odds that we would meet no trouble from them. Pulling out my crossbow, I lifted a small flap atop a leather pouch on my belt and singled out a steel bolt. I loaded it into the weapon. One way or another, I would be ready.

Again the room shook, but this time violently. I could hear sounds of rupturing wood above. The roof was about to collapse.

"Look out!" Ralof cried.

We barely jumped clear of the debris. Stone, soil and woodwork cascaded, sealing the path behind us. The air became thick with dust. My nictitating membranes blocked the dirt from my eyes as I coughed. Ralof hollered in pain.

I turned back to see the Nord's leg caught under a large column of rock. He was spitting enough curses to bring a sailor to blush. I ran to help lift up the rubble. Its bulk was immense – I strained to prop it mere inches. That was enough, though, for Ralof to wring his leg free. My muscles ached as I let the heap of stone drop.

"Son of a…!" Ralof swore as he spat on the ground, grimacing. "Damn dragon won't give up!"

I took a closer look at the wound. Something must have prevented the full weight of the rock from crushing Ralof's leg. It was not as badly broken as I feared. There were two, maybe three fractures. His pant leg and skin were badly torn, streaked with grime and blood.

"Stay still," I said, holding my hands over the abrasion. "I can stop the bleeding and ease your pain."

Bright bands of yellow light wrapped around his leg. I could feel threads of flesh weave back together as my spell sped up his body's healing. The recuperation completed after a few minutes. Ralof looked noticeably more placid.

"That… That was incredible!" he exclaimed. "I feel much better!"

His contorted expression returned as he tried to stand. I motioned for him to stay down.

"I did not completely fix your leg. The bone will have to mend on its own," I said. "I've prevented any festering, at least. It will give us the time we need to reach safety."

I was about to prop Ralof up when a voice rang out from further down the dark corridor.

"Who's there? Show yourselves!"

The figures of two men were moving toward us. As they neared torch light, the shapes of their legion uniforms came into view. I stood and took aim with my crossbow.

"Stop where you are!" I shouted. "Move and I put a bolt between your eyes!"

The men froze in place. One held up his hands yieldingly. He was a clean shaven Nord with ear-length brown hair.

"Easy now," he said. "We don't want to hurt you…"

"I have no concern for myself," I hissed.

"Hadvar, he's the Argonian I saw," the other soldier muttered. "The one helping the Stormcloaks! Look!"

He pointed to Ralof lying on the ground.

"I take no sides in this affair. My actions are my own," I said, lowering my weapon slightly. "I saved this man because his life was in danger."

"That doesn't get you a reprieve," the soldier snapped. "You're aiding an enemy of the empire!"

"Wait a second," Hadvar spoke as he waved his companion aside, straining to see the incapacitated Stormcloak. "It can't be… Ralof? Is that you?"

"Nice to see you too, dog," Ralof jeered.

"You damn traitor, you're still alive!"

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time."

The other Imperial drew his sword. "We'll see about that."

"Enough! All of you!" I shouted. "Have you forgotten that a dragon is attacking the village!? This keep will become our tomb if we waste time fighting each other!"

The ceiling shook again. Hadvar seemed concerned, but his companion refused to back down.

"Stay out of this, lizard," he said. "The Stormcloak is ours. Leave and we'll act like this never happened."

"This man is no threat to you in his condition," I growled. "I'll not let you to kill him so pitilessly! Set aside your hatred this once. Has there not been enough death this day?"

Hadvard seemed to quell at my words.

"Forget about them," he said. "We need to get back to the others. They won't wait for us."

"What happens if the captain finds out we let a rebel escape?" his cohort contested. "It'll be _our_ heads on the chopping block, not theirs!"

"That will make precious little difference if you're already dead," I hissed, raising my crossbow to aim. Tension filled the room, slowly swelling like a bad wound. I did not want to act on my threats, but as the moment became dire it seemed I would have to.

Inconsequential, either way. Something worse happened.

There was a loud snap. A metal hook holding back the drawstring on my crossbow mangled free, pitching off into the air. The repairs I made in the mountains had not been thorough enough. The loaded bolt misfired, careening past the legionnaires by a wide margin.

"Xhuth!" I swore, reeling in surprise.

The Imperial soldier, sword drawn, seized the moment and rushed forward. Hadvar unavailingly shouted for him to stop. Before I knew it, the man's steel blade was coming toward me in a diagonal slash, aimed squarely at my clavicle.

A poor choice of move.

I pulled up my crossbow and blocked the blow. The soldier's sword buried into its wooden stock. Swerving my weapon to the side, I drew away the man's blade and swung my arm at his face. Sharp claws tore through soft flesh. He cried out, staggering backwards. I drew my knife and shifted into a fighting stance.

"If you value your life, yield and I will still show mercy," I hissed.

My opponent recovered himself, half-blinded by the blood drizzling over his eyes. He followed with a series of slashing blows. Not one could connect; I sifted through his strikes like a current of water. The man was fuming. He went for a frighteningly fast stab. I sidestepped, spinning counter-clockwise around the soldier's body, landing a sharp elbow thrust upon the back of his head. He stumbled forward, surprisingly still conscious.

"Give up!" I yelled.

The Imperial spun around to cleave my midsection, arced in a semicircle swing. I ducked. This would only end one way. I rose and plunged my knife into the soldier's heart. His eyes bulged as I twisted the small blade's hilt and drew it free. The man dropped his sword, clutching the puncture wound in his chest. With a kick to his legs, I swept the Imperial off of his feet and dropped him to the ground.

There was a final sickening stomp as my boot broke his neck. Turning to Hadvar, I met his stare with a doleful glower. Blood dripped from the tip of my blade.

"We're leaving. Please, for you sake," I implored, "do not try and stop us."

The Nord legionnaire took a single step backward. He was outmatched and he knew it. There would not be another fight. I was grateful for this; no pleasure had been taken in slaying his comrade.

"Fine," Hadvar said with ire. "I hope that dragon takes you to all to Sovngarde."

He turned to retreat back down the corridor. I let out a sad sigh. It seemed that I made an unwanted enemy. Picking up my broken crossbow, I walked over to Ralof.

"We'll need to move more slowly now," I said, "and give the Imperials time to escape ahead of us."

Once more a quake rumbled through the rocks.

"Not too slowly I hope," Ralof replied, pausing between sentences. "Those were some impressive moves. You know how to handle yourself in a fight."

"I would have rather not fought at all," I spoke quietly, "but what's done is done. We can only move forward."

"No shame in defending yourself, friend. It was a good kill."

Slinging Ralof's arm over my shoulder, I held both our weights up as we hobbled through the dark recesses of the keep.

"I knew that man," Ralof said, staring off at nothing. "Hadvar. We grew up together in Riverwood."

"The two of you were friends?" I asked.

"If it's all the same, I'd rather not talk about it."

"Fair enough."

Ralof chuckled to himself, looking around the room.

"Funny… When I was a boy, Imperial walls and soldiers used to make me feel so safe."

The two of us kept onward, choosing silence for the rest of the way. My thoughts would not settle. There was no way to foresee the consequences of my actions. Would the Imperials seek me out? What would become of the man I spared? Worst and best case scenarios played out in my mind. I had unwittingly become involved in events I desired no part with – by my own fault, of course.

After all of the effort I gave to crossing the border, Skyrim was suddenly the last place I wanted to be.


	7. Arc 1 - Chapter 6

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 6 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

A few days after getting my aunt's letter I traveled through the Pale Pass, a snakelike path that carves through the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim. Aside from the harsh cold weather, it was a simple journey.

Well… no, I shouldn't say that… There was the bit where I got lost.

Must've taken a wrong turn somewhere. I'd hiked for about a full day, but instead of reaching the forests of Falkreath Hold, I fumbled through more stone and sleet, going deeper into the mountains. I thought to turn back around and retrace my steps.

But then I saw something. A campfire was burning in the distant bluffs. There was a cozy looking wood cabin – you could barely see it past the rocks. I had to shield my eyes against the blindingly bright snow. There wasn't a clear path to the cabin but my chill bitten hands and feet, not to mention a mildly growling stomach, urged me to find some way toward the lodge.

I trekked up across the mountain's face, careful to watch my step. Slopes were steep and the way down looked long. I came to a peak overlooking the cabin. Seeing it up close, I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. The place wasn't much to look at. Its supports were built with sturdy log beams but the walls were made of thin wood boards, some stacked unevenly, cracks filled in with a sappy adhesive. There was a stone circle fire pit letting off smoke nearby. The cabin didn't have a door, just a deerskin hide draped over the entrance. Everything seemed hastily cobbled together.

I hadn't realized how close to Falkreath I was until then. To my left I could see pine trees flowing down into a valley, stretching out toward rivers, lakes and farther ranges. Figured I'd reach the city in a day's time if I could find a way down the mountain side, and I'd be at Helgen before the week was out.

But first, the cabin. I slid down a snow covered crest and shuffled over to the burned up fireplace. There were wide-spaced footprints leaving the cabin grounds. Looked like someone left in a hurry.

"Anybody home?" I called out with cupped hand.

An arrow flew past my ear. It clanked off of a boulder behind me, disappearing into the deep snow.

"Next shot I won't miss," a woman yelled from some ways off.

"Woah, woah!" I exclaimed, holding up my hands in surrender. "Take it easy! I'm friendly!"

The woman walked closer to me. Her fur lined coat and winter hood were speckled with snowflakes. A couple of freshly killed rabbits hung limp on her belt. She held a pinewood hunting bow, aimed and drawn in my direction.

"A girl can't be too careful," she chided. "Too many people out here who'll try to rob you or take your head off."

"Hey, you're the one trying to take off _my _head," I snorted. "This how you treat all your visitors?"

"The ones who come armed, yes," the woman said, gesturing with the tip of her arrow toward the ground. "Drop your sword."

"If it means you'll quit pointing that thing at me…"

As I reached for my weapon, something struck me. The woman was near enough to see clearly. She had high cheek bones, a long thin nose bridge, and blond hair. She seemed familiar. I stopped to look more closely.

"I said drop your sword," the woman repeated.

"Do I know you?" I asked.

"If you think you can talk your way out of this–"

"Shor's bones, I _do_ know you!" I exclaimed. "Angi!? Why are you all the way out here in the mountains?"

The woman startled.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh come on, are you dense? You don't recognize me?" I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. "It can't have been that long…"

"Stop talking and _drop your sword_!"

"Angi, you don't remember who I am? We–"

"I'm counting to three."

"Wait, wait!" I stammered, trying to think of a way I could help jog her memory. "Err… Hold on! Try to picture me without my beard!"

That did it. Angi's face began to soften.

"…Reinhardt?"

I slumped and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Yes… Now would you stop threatening to kill me? We didn't part on terms _that_ poor, did we?"

Angi lowered her bow, returning her arrow to the quiver on her back.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

"I think I asked you that first."

She reached for her arrow again.

"I was hiking!" I blurted. "I saw the cabin and came over! Trolls blood, will you let up woman!?"

Angi relaxed. "So you're back now," she said. "Decided you'd had enough fun with those cushy Imperials in Cyrodiil?"

"Eh… Things happen. Times change," I shrugged, nodding at the cabin. "Looks like you've had no kind favors."

"That's the best answer I can expect from you, isn't it?" Angi shook her head.

"Afraid so," I said, smiling. "If it means I can have something to eat, I'll stop being a pain in the ass."

Angi folded her arms.

"That might be difficult, knowing you. But I'll take your offer."

~ooooo~

We took seats on wood chairs near the fire. Mine had an uneven leg that teetered every time I shifted weight. Angi sat across from me with her bow rested on her lap. She'd built up the fire again. A ring of melted snow and dead grass surrounded the pit. I took my first bite of the rabbit Angi had kindly prepared for me.

"Talos have mercy, this is disgusting," I grumbled, forcing down the burnt-tasting meat.

"I thought you said you were going to stop being an ass.

"Oops…" I gave the rabbit another bite.

Angi rolled her eyes.

"You haven't changed at all."

I stopped for a moment, fixing my eyes on the woman.

"Unlike you, huh? Angi, why are you out here like this? What made you decide to leave Helgen?"

"I thought that'd be obvious," she said. "The weather is wonderful here this season."

"So it is! Great for hunting too, I'm sure," I replied with a mouthful of rabbit. "You been tracking any big game? Elk? Bears? Your sense of humor? I can see you haven't found _that_ one yet."

Angi sighed.

"I came to these mountains a couple of years ago. Couldn't stand to be around anyone in the village anymore."

"Well that's depressing. Why?"

Angi took her time before speaking again. Her eyes tilted down to the flames.

"I'd lost my family," she said. "They all felt pity for me. But I didn't want them to. It was my problem, not theirs."

Her voice carried a hint of anger, but was otherwise emotionless.

"What…?" I whispered. "What do you mean _lost your family_?"

"You know well what I mean. They're dead, Reinhardt."

I slumped in my seat. Of all the things to happen while I was away. I'd known Angi's family since I was a boy – her parents, her older brother...

"What's it to you, anyway?" she snapped. "I'm surprised you even care. We heard nothing from you for years."

"Don't you go putting this on me!" I pointed a finger at her. "Your family was good to mine. Right by me, anyway. Why wouldn't I care?"

She didn't reply. Birds cawed as they flew overhead through the clouds. I stared at Angi.

"I'm sorry," I finally said.

"No," she replied angrily. "Don't be like them. Don't be sorry for me."

"Okay then, I won't. Just tell me how it happened."

Angi looked away at the cliffs.

"There's nothing to tell. They were murdered. End of story."

"By who, Angi? Who did this?"

"Two Imperial drunks who thought they were above the law," she said with a sad grin, as though the thought of her family's fate was laughable. I scowled. _Damn Imperial dogs…_

"Where are they now?" I growled. "I'll gladly kill them myself."

"Already did," Angi replied, strumming the drawstring on her bow. "Part of the reason I'm living out here now."

My mouth slacked open.

"…Really?"

She nodded.

"Thanks for offering, though."

I sat quietly, finishing my cold rabbit. That's the thing about us Nords. We tend to take care of our problems more directly than most. I had to admire Angi's resolve. Reminded me why I spent all those years fancying her.

"You know, I'd have been happy to hear that anyone killed those Imperials," I said, grinning. "I'm even happier to hear _you_ did. High time some things got set right in this world."

"It's what you would have done," Angi replied. "You always took your problems head on. No regrets or excuses…"

"Ha! You're not trying to paint a romantic picture of me, are you?" I chuckled. "I think you're forgetting all the bruises and broken bones I collected."

"Those things don't make you wrong, Reinhardt. They make you an oaf."

She stood up, having finished her meal, and tossed me her bow. I caught it with questionable grace.

"If we're done with this," Angi said, "I'm suddenly curious to see if you've been practicing."

_Oh no_, I thought, _of all the things to bring up again…_

"Practicing? Come on Angi, I haven't used a bow in years!"

"I'll take that as a 'no' then," she spoke matter-of-factly. "I have some targets set up near the road. We'll shoot there."

"You threaten to take my life, serve me your awful cooking, and now we have to do archery? By Shor, you still get off watching me squirm."

"You're the one who insisted on coming here and digging up old memories."

She dropped a quiver of iron tipped arrows at my feet and started walking. Angi and her brother always used to take me with them on hunting trips. I was a decent wood worker but a worthless marksman. Couldn't hit the broad side of bear from three paces. Still they'd go on inviting me, saying I'd need the skills to hunt for myself someday. So I got to practice.

And I shot poorly. A lot.

'Course, I never said it then but I always thanked them for it. Those were simpler times. It felt good to tag along.

Slinging the quiver over my shoulder, I followed Angi down the road.


	8. Arc 1 - Chapter 7

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 7 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

A lake widened in the distance with a beautiful backdrop of mountains. The sun was settling at the peak of its tilt above a partly clouded sky. Ralof and I limped our way along a forest path toward the town of Riverwood. Not a patch of snow lay in sight. Green trees, cool grass, and brushes thick with plant life presided instead. The air smelled of pine sap.

"You know what I'm going to ask you," Ralof said.

"I am not carrying you," I replied. Ralof's expression scrunched.

"What makes you think I'd let you? That wasn't my question, anyway."

"Then ask. I may answer."

"What were you doing in Helgen? Why go through all that trouble to save me?"

"That's two questions."

The man groaned. "Shor's bones… If you don't want to answer, just say so."

I paused. A cold draft blew through the air, carrying dust and needles from trees. The keep in Helgen had led to an exit – a natural cave formation, connected to the dungeons deep within. By the time we made our way out, the dragon was nowhere to be found. The only sounds we heard came from the wind and fauna, with a distant crackling of wood fueled fires. Plumbs of smoke rose behind us. Footprints clustered near the mouth of the cave revealed that others had escaped not long before us, though by no means in large numbers.

Of the dozens gathered in Helgen, only a handful including Ralof and I must have survived… or had at least come out the same way.

"Forgive me," I said. "I cannot say I have a good reason for coming to Helgen. I saw the carriages transporting you back in the mountains. It was a curious sight, so I followed."

"You were following us?" Ralof sounded skeptical. "We never saw you… "

"I am good at keeping unseen when I choose to," I said, debatably masking a hint of pride. I decided to leave out the fact that I had watched the beginning of their executions.

"That's… I'm not sure what to say to that."

"Best to say nothing, then. As for why I saved you…"

I stopped to scratch my scars. They were itching.

"…you already know. The words I spoke to the Imperial soldiers were true. You were in danger. It wouldn't have felt right to stand idly by."

"That's it?" he said.

"That's it," I repeated.

As a consequence of living nomadically, my path would often cross with people in need of aid or assistance. I always tried to do what I could, giving my time and strength to others. It was how I chose to live my life after leaving Black Marsh. My act of defiance.

"Huh… That right?" Ralof mumbled, soaking in my words. "Well, can't say I'm not happy you were there. If you hadn't been I'd be crossing the bridge to Sovngarde right now."

"Indeed," I said, "I only hope your sister is as hospitable as you claim she is. Your leg will need a place to rest soon."

"No worries there, friend. I'm sure she'll help us out. She's probably out keeping an eye on her mill workers. We'll see the town just down the road. "

Onward we went, descending a twisted slope that straightened into a stone studded pathway. Rushing water from Skyrim's White River flowed at our left, with cliffs beyond and trees on our right. Purple mountain flowers lined the edges of the road, soil beneath them sprayed with mist from the rapids. Salmon jumped briskly upstream, while dragonflies hummed and glistened in the sun. I would have given anything at that moment to drop Ralof and go for a swim. The river looked achingly pleasant.

True to the Nord's word, a village appeared ahead. Its buildings were similar to Helgen's, lodgings of stone and thatch. The river split around a small landmass, one arm flowing away from the town and another passing through like a gully. A large water wheel churned slowly with the flow of the inner stream, supplying hydropower to a sawmill. Wooden bridges stitched the river island to the riverside. Each home had its own small garden, growing fresh crops for the autumn season. There were sounds of hammering metal, wood cutting, dogs barking, and children playing.

I took in the whole of the place. To my eyes, it was a far more tranquil sight than the rigid bulwarks of Helgen. Riverwood lent to itself a calming quality, a homeliness that one seldom sees.

All I could picture was the dragon burning it down.

Nobody noticed our arrival at first. As we passed beneath the town's gateway, Ralof caught sight of his sister near the mill. She was speaking to a wood elf with a pile of split lumber in his arms. The woman wore long skirted clothes covered in dirt near the lower hem. She had workman's gloves and kept the sides of her yellow hair braided back.

"Gerdur!" Ralof called out.

Turning her head toward a familiar voice, the woman saw us and rushed over. We were a sorry sight, covered in grime and dried blood.

"Brother!" Gerdur exclaimed. "Mara's mercy, what happened to you!?"

The woman came close enough for me to hand over Ralof. She took her brother's arm and held him up while I rubbed my shoulder.

"Gerdur, I–" Ralof managed to say.

"Is it safe for you to be here?" his sister interrupted. "We'd heard Ulfric had been captured…"

"Gerdur, I'm fine!" Ralof insisted, raising his voice. "At least now I will be."

"What's going on? And who is this…?"

The woman trailed off, looking at me confusedly. It sounded as though she meant to continue speaking. Or call me something. I was unsure which.

"Don't worry. He's a friend," Ralof said. "I owe him my life, in fact."

I tried smiling, though an Argonian's smile is not so obvious to men or mer. It might have looked more like a snarl. At least if it did, no one seemed to be bothered.

"Is there some place we can talk?" Ralof asked his sister.

"You should rest first," I said. "Your leg is swelling up badly."

"No. This is too important." He turned to his sister. "I need to tell you what's happened. I don't have to stand to do that."

Gerdur glanced at me. My silent expression gave credence to Ralof's words. She deserved to hear of Helgen's fate.

"Alright," she said. "Come, this way."

The three of us crossed a bridge over to the river island. To our right, a wooden ramp lead up to the sawmill. A brawny looking Nord in a dirty wool shirt was busy siccing a hook into a massive pine log, lifting it onto a conveyor that would guide it down to the mill's whipsaw.

"Hod!" Gerdur called to him. "Come here a minute! I need your help with something."

"What is it woman?" he replied, still engrossed on his work. "Embry drunk on the job again?"

"Hod, just come here," Gerdur insisted, her voice implying all seriousness.

The man, her husband, came over to the mill's rope hand railing. His light hair was cropped back in a ponytail, with a bushy mustache on his face. He quickly saw what the fuss was about.

"Ralof!" Hod exclaimed. "What are you doing here!?"

Ralof looked up at his in-law, motioning his head toward the other end of the river island, where we were heading.

"Ah… I'll be right down!" Hod stammered as he made for the ramp.

Gerdur set her brother down on a large tree stump to sit. He began brushing ants off the wood. A steady stream of runoff trickled and splashed down the scarp of a cliff across the river. It was a beautiful locale for such a troubling occasion. I stood under the shadow of a pine tree, arms folded. The sun's reflection distracted me, glistening in the river's diffracting flow.

"Ralof, what's going on?" Hod asked as he walked over. "You look pretty well done in."

"I feel done in," Ralof sighed. "Can't remember when I last slept…"

Before the Nord could speak further, a young boy ran toward our gathering. His hair hinted a common ancestry to Hod. A mangy looking dog followed in tow.

"Uncle Ralof, you're here!" he shouted excitedly. "Can I see your axe? You promised you would–"

The young one's attention quickly shifted to the sight of a strange, red-scaled stranger standing in the shade. I speak of myself, of course. Judging from his look of bewilderment, I presumed that the boy had never seen an Argonian before. Not unlikely, considering how few of my kin would travel to these cold northern lands. The weather was a strong deterrent.

I could not help but chuckle in response to the young one's gape.

"Am I such an odd sight to you?" I said. "Or do you always gawk at outsiders?"

He didn't reply. His eyes were held on something moving back and forth. I think he was watching my tail sway.

"Frodnar, this is no time for your games," Gerdur chided. "Your uncle and I need to talk. Go run along."

"Aw, momma," the boy whimpered, "I want to stay with uncle Ralof!"

"Hey, we'll have plenty of time to catch up," Ralof spoke to his nephew. "I need you to do something for me..."

He motioned Frodnar to come closer, speaking in hushed tones.

"Go to the south gate and watch the road," Ralof said, "The Imperials are out there looking for me! I need you to make sure they don't sneak up on us. If you see the red of their leather, run straight back here and warn me."

The tired looking Stormcloak sat up.

"Well? Can you do that?"

"I'll do it!" the lad yipped with excitement. "Don't worry uncle Ralof, I won't let those Imperials get past me!"

Frodnar ran off to perform his duty. Gerdur, on the other hand, looked less than pleased.

"The Imperials are after you?" she asked, even more concerned.

"Don't know. They're in the same lot as us," Ralof shrugged. "It's a long story. Where to start…?"

After a brief moment of thought, Ralof began recounting his tale. New information was gleamed. Skyrim was in the midst of a civil war between two factions: the Imperials, loyalists to the southern Cyrodiilic Empire, and the Stormcloak rebels, led under the banner of Ulfric Stormcloak, who sought to establish Skyrim's independence from the Empire.

Ralof had been traveling with Ulfric some days ago, along with a band of body guards – the other captives I encountered. They were traveling to a place called Darkwater Crossing, somewhere in Skyrim's eastern region. The Imperials ambushed them along the way, forcing their surrender.

"I thought they were taking us to Cyrodiil. Parade us in front of the Emperor," Ralof muttered. "But we stopped in Helgen. Had us lined up to headsman's block and ready to start chopping."

"The cowards!" Gerdur spat.

"They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would've seen the truth then!"

"So what happened?" Hod prodded.

There was a lapse of silence.

"A dragon attacked," Ralof said with a stern frown.

The others' expressions bore disbelief.

"You don't mean a real, live…?" Gerdur trailed away.

"I can hardly believe it myself," Ralof exclaimed, "and I was there!"

"A dragon… By the gods!" Hod's voice rose in fervor. "Tell us, what was it like? As big as a house?"

"Bigger," I replied. "The beast had to have been at least thirty feet in span. Its scales were black as night, and it flew with the grace of a hawk."

"Well I'll be," Hod murmured, eyes wide, "that'd be a sight to see!"

"Pray that you never see it, lest you find yourself humbled," I hissed.

"How did you escape?" Gerdur asked her brother.

"Now there's a tale," Ralof laughed. "As crazy as it sounds, I'd be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion I managed to slip away." He turned to me. "With the help of this scaleback, of course. I owe him as much as the dragon. Maybe more."

Ralof went on to detail our escape from Helgen, omitting no details. By the end, Gerdur and Hod lent warm gazes to me.

"I don't know why you saved my brother… but you have my thanks," Gerdur spoke with newfound respect. "Any friend of Ralof's is a friend of mine."

"Your kind words are appreciated," I said, nodding once, "but I fear your brother is not yet safe. None of us are." My face hung a troubled glare. "That dragon still flies. If it comes to this village…"

"He's right," Hod exclaimed, "we're completely defenseless! The Jarl has his entire guard rallied at Whiterun."

"Then we need to get word to Balgruuf to send whatever soldiers he can," Gerdur replied. "The Jarl needs to know there's a dragon on the loose."

She pondered a moment, exchanging concerned looks with her brother. This woman had suddenly gained a great burden atop many others. I felt the weight of her worry, as though it were mine.

"None of us can make the trip," she said to me. "We've enough to take care of here as it is. After everything you've been through, I hate to ask–"

"Do not trouble yourself," I interrupted, unfolding my arms as I attempted another smile. "Tell me where I need to go."


	9. Arc 1 - Chapter 8

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 8 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

Sometimes I wonder how I get talked into half the things I do.

Traveling to Riften was Lisaa's idea. She, Ertius, and I all agreed – anything was worth leaving behind the sorry troupe we'd banded with in Cheydinhal. Hard to believe they actually called themselves 'professionals.' Their idea of a risky heist was snatching some old woman's heirloom and selling it for what came to two days' worth of meals. I'd seen some pathetic lots, but they set a new standard. All the marks they went after were poor. Not by choice, mind you, they just couldn't do any better.

I would've rather taken the gallows' noose than kept with those idiots, making targets of inn keepers and stable hands…

After leaving, we could've gone anywhere we wanted to. Valenwood, High Rock, maybe even Elsweyr. But no. We went to Skyrim. The coldest province in all damn Tamriel.

At least the Rift wasn't as wintery as the other holds. You could actually tell it was autumn from the bright colored trees. The wind felt nice and gentle too. There were bee hives, bird nests, and leaves fluttering to the ground. As we rode through the forest on our horses, I had to admit the land was beautiful.

Still cold, though. Not to mention filled with bears.

Ertius lost his horse to one. Sort of. Its leg had been broken first. He rode it too hard through the thick of the forest, chasing an elk he insisted on catching for dinner. Probably misstepped a runoff or got the horse's foot caught in a hole. He never did say exactly how it happened, just that he saw the bear very close by after he got thrown from his mount. I was unpleasantly reminded that bears are meat eaters when I went to go find the mare.

Wasn't much left of the poor thing.

Now he and Lisaa were riding double on a tired looking paint horse. Ertius was enjoying himself with it, the lout. I still don't know why Lisaa insisted on bringing that straw-haired Breton along. I never liked him. He was too quick to act on impulse, the kind of thing that gets thieves killed.

We'd just passed a village called Ivarstead not long ago when a column of smoke appeared in the distance. _Columns_, I should say. It looked like several fires had been lit. A band of caravans, maybe? Wasn't a forest fire. The flames weren't big enough. It was right down the path, so we would see it one way or another.

"How many of 'em do you think there are?" Ertius wondered aloud.

"There might not even _be_ anyone down there," Lisaa replied, brushing back her long, black hair. "All we can see is the smoke."

"Oh come on, the fires are right by the road! There must be people!"

"You can hope for whatever you want."

"Hey, all I'm saying is, if there _are _people then we can stop by for a bit and chat. Maybe get our supplies restocked in the process."

He meant steal from them.

"Are you crazy? We could never get away with that!" Lisaa protested.

"Pfft. I thought Nords were supposed to be fearless. What's the fun in being a thief if there's no challenge? _She_ knows what I'm talking about," Ertius quipped, looking at me. "Don't you, Dar?"

I shifted in my saddle, tail slung over the side. The sun heated my jet-black scales, making them warm to the touch.

"How about you both keep your mouths shut," I scoffed, combing a clawed hand through the bleached white feathers on my head. "Unless you want someone to hear us."

They stopped talking. We weren't very far from the fires and our voices were carrying. I'd hoped at least Lisaa would've thought about that. She was more tolerable than Ertius – had even been helpful a few times back in Cyrodiil – but that was it. We didn't really see eye to eye. The Nord had a contact in the Riften Thieves' Guild, so she decided to try her luck and go join them after leaving Cheydinhal.

She wanted me and the Breton along for mutual benefit. Strength in numbers, she said.

Bullshit. Lisaa didn't have the skill or talent to survive alone. That's the only reason she brought us. Still, I liked the idea of joining a guild. There was some excitement in that, a chance to find a troupe that could finally replace my first one. The only _good_ one I ever had. The one I lost.

I'd gotten excited about Cheydinhal too, though, once upon a time. And look how that turned out. Only time would tell if our trip to Skyrim had been worth the effort.

A bird flew high overhead. Our bags and luggage were draped over our horses. We'd packed plenty of supplies for the trip, including winter clothes. They're a pain to carry around when nobody's using them. I had to pack extra. Argonians don't like acclimatizing, especially if the climate is cold. Though that might just be me…

The road bent sharply up toward a river. Then the fires came into view.

Lisaa stifled a scream.

We halted our horses. Further up the path an overturned carriage lay on its side, goods and wares spilled across the ground. Bodies of men, women and horses were flung about, devoured by flames or torn into pieces. Blood and gore plastered the stone pave way and surrounding trees, tinged to a caked dark maroon. I held my hand up to my snout. There were so many confusing scents. Noxious sulfur, something like burnt liver, and even a musky sweetness. My stomach rose into my throat.

"Damn," Ertius muttered, dismounting.

I couldn't speak. Words failed me.

"Gods… I never would have thought…" Lisaa trailed off, almost in a whisper. "How did this happen?"

"You think it was magic?" Ertius mused. "Wizards could have started the fires."

"But the bodies… Why are they ripped into pieces like that? What wizard does this?"

Ertius started walking toward the carriage. Lisaa balked at him.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Checking it out. What does it look like?"

Lisaa was worried, but she didn't say anything in protest. I rode up beside her. My voice had finally come back.

"We shouldn't be here," I hissed. I wanted to leave. Badly.

_Whatever did this could do the same to us._

"Looks like the carriage was carting general goods. Might've been a caravan after all," Ertius said, raising his voice for us to hear. "A lot of cargo's still intact!"

"Be quiet!" Lissa snapped. "Get back here, Ertius! We're not staying to snoop around!"

"I want to know what happened here," he said, annoyed. "Just give me a couple minutes…"

The Breton continued to ignore Lisaa's pleas. I gripped the reins on my horse tightly, looking around the forest. Nothing moved, just leaves rustling in the trees. Another bird flew through the clouds high above in circles. I stared at it. The thing started gliding lower to the ground, almost in a straight dive. It was moving fast. Toward us.

It wasn't a bird.

"What is that!?" I called out, fixed on the sky. The others looked up.

Why I asked such a stupid question, I don't know. It didn't matter what the thing was. Anyone could see it was about to kill us. On closer view, the creature was massive. Its wings spanned wide, body covered in a hide of brownish-green scales. Ertius started running back. He wasn't nearly quick enough.

"YOL… TOOR SHUL!"

The beast flew over, fire exploding from its mouth as it passed, missing Lissa and I just barely. My horse bucked in fear and threw me off before bolting away. I landed hard, feeling the wind knock out of me. Ertius was hollering, writhing in flames. I saw the monster make a banking turn, gliding above the trees. Trunks and branches swayed in its tailwinds. It was faster than anything I'd ever seen in my life.

Lisaa's horse lunged into a full gallop, almost trampling me. I watched her ride off into the forest. The creature set its sights on the Nord, correcting its flight before landing dead in front of her. More screaming. As I got up, I watched the monster rise on its hind and snap down at the horse and rider. It clenched Lisaa in its teeth and shook her back and forth like a dog shaking a freshly caught rabbit, before tossing her lifeless body against a rock. Another breath of fire torched her mare.

A single word shrieked inside my head: _run_.

I tried to put as much distance between me and the giant lizard as possible before it rose again into the air. But if Lisaa couldn't outride it, how was I supposed to outrun it? There was nowhere to go. Fighting back the urge to panic, I tore past the remains of the caravan. Trees, rocks, and bushes burnt with embers surrounded me. I saw the river beyond the road.

The river.

If I reached it, I could hide deep underwater and try to swim away. I'm an Argonian. I wouldn't have to come up for air…

Thinking to look behind me, I saw a blaze of orange hurling in my direction. It was blisteringly hot. I jumped out of the way as the monster made another pass, but not before I felt a searing pain in my shoulder. As I sprang back up from the road I yelped, clutching my arm. It felt very warm.

I ignored the pain, going on nothing but pure adrenaline, rushing toward the water. Toward safety. The beast banked again, trying to beat me before I could reach the river. It was a contest. A mad race. Cat and mouse.

The mouse won this time.

That thing must have been scant feet away when I finally felt the cold shock of water on my scales. With a beat of my legs and tail, I pushed off into the stream with speed I'd have never guessed I had. My shadow cast over the river floor as light danced on the surface above. It looked like a muddy sunset. I caught my breath.

The water was freezing, but it soothed my shoulder. I wasted no time waiting around and swam up river. To where, I didn't give a damn. _Anyplace_ would have been a step up, so long as the monster wasn't there.

Gods damn… It's easier to talk about all this now, but… at the time…

It didn't seem real. None of it. I was swimming for my life in complete terror. I expected that thing to dive into the water any moment and snatch me up like a bird of prey. But it didn't. It felt like an hour – a sick, maddening hour – had passed before it hit me. I escaped. I was alive.

And I was alone.


	10. Arc 1 - Chapter 9

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 9 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

Riften was a straight shot upstream. I made it there in half the time it would've taken me on horseback. Might have been the first time I actually appreciated my amphibious traits. Most Argonians spend their lives staying close to water. My family didn't. There weren't any lakes or rivers near Chorrol where I grew up. Gills, webbed feet, a tail for swimming… I had these all things, but they never meant anything to me.

Now they were the only reason I was still alive.

The river widened into a small lake. I came ashore some ways away from Riften's front gates, dripping wet. Nearly all of my gear had been left behind. The only things I still had were the clothes I wore, a knife, and a light soggy coin purse. There might've still been a lockpick or two in my pockets but I didn't bother to check. I looked everywhere for the monster that attacked me. No trace, just sights of the city and autumn forest.

The sun was starting to set. Thin dark clouds floated near the edges of the mountains against an orange-pink sky. I heard cattle mooing from farm and a constant chirping of crickets. Or were they tree frogs? I can never tell the difference. Fishing boats were tied to Riften's docks, where fishery workers carried nets filled with salmon. Guardsmen kept on patrols.

Everything was calm. Against my shock it felt so disgustingly uncomfortable. People stopped to stare at me, whispering to one another. I walked up to Riften's entrance sore and shivering. There were two guards posted by the stone archway.

"Hold there!" one of them said to me as I came near, signaling 'halt' with his outstretched hand. "That's close enough."

They wore uniforms of fur and leather over chainmail, with purple cloth matching the color of the hold's banner. You couldn't see their faces behind the blinds of their metal helmets – tall, slender looking things with small spikes at the top.

"I don't know your business," the man continued, "but sorry looks won't get you into Riften for free. You pay the visitor's tax, just like everyone else."

I straightened from my tired slouch.

"A tax?" I snapped. "What for!?"

"For the privilege of entering the city," he said. "What does it matter?"

Unbelievable. A shakedown, of all things. Whatever fear I had at that moment thawed away. My shoulder started to flare and sting. I was pissed.

"What makes you think I've got anything worth giving you?" I growled. "Daedra and Divines, do I look like–"

"If you don't want in, that's fine," the guardsman interrupted. "Makes no difference to me. Have a good walk to the next city."

I lost it and angrily shoved back the guard. He reached for his weapon.

"Let off, you bastard!" I yelled. "I didn't survive being attacked by some giant flying lizard just to get panhandled by gate keepers!"

The men froze. They passed glances at each other.

"Giant flying lizard?" the other asked with a hint of fear. "You don't mean… a dragon?"

"Is that what you call those things!? Huge wings? Sharp teeth? Breathes fire?"

I swear I saw the guard gape behind his helm. People working the stables and farmland stopped to listen. I was causing a scene.

"It can't be… She could be lying," the second guard whispered to his cohort.

"You," said the other to me. "When did this happen? Where did you see this dragon?"

"Further down river, along the side of the road," I grumbled, "It killed my companions and wrecked a caravan. Head there and you'll see it. The place is a graveyard."

The guardsman started running down the road. I almost stopped him out of frustration. Where did he think he was going all of a sudden?

"I'll pass on the news to the watchtowers," he called back. "Get this Argonian to Mistveil Keep!" The guy had a good pace going down the road. He was spooked.

"You heard him," the other guard said to me while unlocking the gate. "The Jarl's going to want to hear about this herself."

So much for the visitor's tax. These larcenous Nords were taking my news awfully seriously. That didn't sit well with me. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors of Riften's entrance, the guard stepped inside.

"What's a Jarl?" I asked, following close behind.

~ooooo~

Didn't take long for me to have my answer. Jarls are the men and women who govern Skyrim's holds, like counts or countesses back in Cyrodiil. They're usually accompanied by a steward, someone who handles logistics or legal matters, and a housecarl, a sort of personal bodyguard. There's a court wizard too, naturally. Thanes as well, members of the Jarl's court. They're important for some reason, but I couldn't figure out why.

All of these people were assembled in Mistveil Keep, Riften's castle. We stood in a warm dining hall, a large brick chamber with a high vaulted ceiling. Dark wood dining tables boxed around a large fire. They were set with all sorts of roasted foods and cold drinks. I must've interrupted dinner. Mounted deer heads hung on the walls next to banners bearing Riften's insignia, two crossed swords stitched in yellow on purple cloth.

Laila Lawgiver, the Jarl, sat on her throne near the back of the room on an elevated platform. She was probably a stocky Nord beneath her regal robes, with white fox fur wrapped around her neck. The woman wore a silver circlet on her forehead, keeping her red hair collected back. She studied me with unpleasant scrutiny.

"And you swam the entire way here?" she asked. Her voice was deep and poised.

"Yes," I said. "I don't know if the dragon tried to follow me or not."

I was told to give a full account of what happened. So I did. The Jarl and her dressed up court listened to my story with rapt attention. I just wanted to get it over with. My clothes were still cold and damp. It wouldn't have killed them to let me talk while warming up to the fire, but I guess that didn't cross their busy minds.

"Anuriel," the Jarl said, speaking to the Wood Elf steward beside her, "have our scouts come up with any other reports on this dragon?"

"There have been scattered sightings by folk living out in the woods," the woman replied, "but nothing substantial until now."

"I trust we have someone looking into the site of this supposed attack?"

"Yes milady. A small party has headed there now to investigate."

"Good," the Jarl said, relaxing somewhat. "Then we'll find out the truth of this matter soon enough."

It turned out that rumors of dragons were widespread as of late, though nobody heeded them. They hadn't been seen for thousands of years. Not that they'd be able to say _that_ anymore.

"How are you going to defend this city if the dragon attacks?" I asked. "The walls sure aren't going to keep it out."

"We'll have a contingency plan in place for Riften's guard, once we have proof that your account is accurate," Anuriel said.

"You think I'd make all this up?" I scoffed. "What happens if your men don't come back? What's to stop the dragon from picking them off too?"

"Our men know the risks. Even if there is a dragon, they'll make it back," the Jarl's housecarl asserted. His war painted face and moonstone armor were glowing with candle light. A huge sword rested on his back. He had the guise of a Nord who'd lop your arm off if you looked at him funny.

"You haven't seen it," I hissed. "You don't know what it can do."

"And you should learn when to hold your tongue," the man retorted, a scowl lifting the hair of his goatee.

"Leave the girl be, Unmid," Jarl Laila said. "Whether her story is true or not, she's clearly been through an ordeal."

The Jarl turned to me, sitting back in her throne.

"I'm afraid we can't offer you much aid," she said. "Our resources are spread thin from the war. Speak with Talen-Jai and Keerava. They own the city's inn, the Bee and Barb. I'm sure they'll be willing to help you."

Nodding, I dismissed myself, stepping back out into the freezing air outside. I slowly walked along the city's dark streets, brushing my hand against a cold stone wall. Shivers ran down my tail.

Talen-Jai and Keerava… those were Argonian names. Is that why the Jarl figured they'd help me? _Sure,_ I thought, _let the lizards take care of their own kind. _I honestly didn't expect any Argonians to live this far north. Dead leaves crunched beneath my feet. The pain in my shoulder was intense. Nothing to do but suck it up and trudge on, though. I'd never be able to afford a healer with what little money I had left.

The city had a darkish blue hue. Guardsmen were lighting lanterns. I skirted around the town center, walking on boardwalks that rimmed the chasm of a water canal. I knew better than to whine out loud, but I wished things would stop happening so quickly. Couldn't get Lisaa and Ertius out of my head. The gods know I had no love for them, but the way they died…

I wouldn't wish deaths like that on anyone…

The sight of a stranger walking out of the shadows interrupted my melancholy. I slowed to a stop. He was leaning against a house beneath the shade of a balcony. The man looked enough like a Nord, clad in iron armor with a dark coat draped over. There was a mien of menace on his rugged face.

"I don't know you," the man spoke with a gruff and surly voice. "You and Riften looking for trouble?"

I didn't like where this was going.

"That depends," I replied tetchily. "Is it looking for me? Or can I keep walking…?"

"Don't say something you'll regret," the Nord said. "Last thing the Black Briars need is some wise-ass mouthing off in their city."

"Uh-huh. And the Black Briars are who?"

"Someone oughta' told you by now."

"I've been a bit busy…"

"They're the family runnin' this place. And they don't like people who meddle in their affairs. Best keep that in mind while you're here."

"Cut the tough guy act," I said, rolling my eyes, "I get the message. I'll stay out of your hair. Are we done?"

The man took a step forward. He did not look happy.

"You'd better not be this stupid. I'm not here to make empty threats. The Black Briars have Riften's guard in their pocket and the thieves' guild watchin' their back."

I let out a small chuckle.

"Aw, so that makes _you_ their little guard dog, doesn't it? Adorable."

If he'd been angry before, he was furious after that. The veins on his neck were bulging. The Nord strode up and grabbed my collar, slamming me against a wooden beam. He was pressing into my bad shoulder. I fought the urge to scream in pain.

"That's enough out of you," the man growled. The scent of his oil**y** black hair was thick in my face. "Think I ought to send you off with a couple of broken bones. Teach you some manners."

Can't imagine it would have been hard for him to do that. I mustered what bravado I still had and cracked a smile.

"Not afraid to get your hands dirty, huh?" I said.

"I'm gettin' really sick of hearing you talk."

"Then I'll keep this simple… My hands aren't exactly clean either. If you can set aside our squabble, you'll see we're on the same side."

The Nord wrinkled an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" He doubted.

"You mentioned a Thieves' Guild," I said, still fighting against the pain. "It just so happens that I came here looking for them. Point me in the right direction and the Black Briars can have themselves an ally."

The man mulled over my proposal. That last part I told him was a lie, I just wanted to sound convincing. Didn't give a damn about the Black Briars. I promised myself I wouldn't get too cozy with folks in this city. A safe distance is always healthy. The blades that cut deepest are in the hands of people close to you. By the time I learned that lesson, I was already bleeding to death. And I don't mean figuratively.

"How do I know you're not some half-assed poser?" the Nord grumbled.

"You don't make empty threats, right? Well, I don't boast…"

I made a quick glance downward. The Nord followed my eyes. He saw the tip of my knife pointed at a chink in his armor.

"…I'm just good at what I do," I assured, a smirk on my face.

The man pushed away. My arm was trembling. With his pressure off the pain eased, but only a little. Still, it was sweet relief.

"Guess you're not as a dumb as you look," the Nord said with some surprise.

"Is that a compliment? I'm flattered," I chirped, feigning amusement. "You seem like someone who knows this city. Anything else you'd like to tell me about the Thieves' Guild?"

"Hmph… What's not to tell?" he snorted. "My brother Dirge works in their hideout. I used to run with them myself before they started hittin' a rough patch."

"_Dirge_?"

"And I'm Maul. I watch the streets for the Black Briars, now."

Some names. They sounded more like job descriptions. That was probably the point.

"Okay," I said, "so how do I contact them?"

Maul stopped to look at the town center for a second.

"You'll want to talk to Brynjolf when he gets back. He handles recruitment."

"When he gets back?"

"He's out on some business. You'll have to make your own way around for now. Just take my advice – don't go thieving yet 'till you've joined. The guild doesn't like competition."

That figured. Still, no competition if you don't know someone's competing. I wouldn't get caught.

"Fine," I said, stretching my arms with a grunt. "Now, _are we done_? It's cold out here."


	11. Arc 1 - Chapter 10

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 10 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

I hate sleep. Essential it may be, I never look forward to it. Sleeping leaves you vulnerable, susceptible to harm in so many ways. Poison. Suffocation. Strangulation. A simple knife. The body lies unwary of the world, unconscious, but not unthinking. Sometimes a mind at rest will meander to places unseen by one awake. Yet it can just as well wander to those dark recesses, to places long forgotten. Or places you want to forget…

Pardon me. I mean to say simply that I had not slept well.

In the mountain hills near Whiterun, looking out onto the far stretched plains, I camped. To dare stay at the city's inn would usher innumerable risks. Owners often kept records of their tenants, while inns themselves were too open to the passage of people. I cared not for how painstaking my efforts had been to travel north unfollowed. No chances would be taken. I would leave behind only the faintest of traces to my whereabouts.

Anything contrary would lead to my death, like the slow festering of an unsewn wound.

With morning on the horizon, I gathered my meager belongings and trekked the final paces to my destination. Beyond the ranges of the alps, Skyrim's scenery changed drastically. The verdant hills and forests of the southwest sloped into a valley with scattered trees and dry grass. All but the sky was tanned in warm colors. Distant mountain ranges, jutting creases in the land, could be seen clearly without obstruction. The view was truly vast. In the middle of the plains sat the city of Whiterun enclosed within grey brick walls. The palace of the Jarl, Dragonsreach, towered over feeble buildings and windmills, its Nordic architecture beautifully rendered in woodwork and stone.

Against a backdrop of the rising sun, the city was a foreign but beautiful sight. Ralof had described it to me, but my eyes bore witness to the shortcoming of his account.

I had left Riverwood and Ralof's company quietly, with brief goodbyes and a small clutch of provisions to send me off. No intentions were held to return. The less I involved myself in his family's life, the better.

Whiterun's walls were aged and weathered. There wasn't a single smooth edge along the top lining. One could only guess how long they had stood for. I made my way up a bending slope toward the city gates, admiring aqueducts that filtered out toward the plains from inside the walls. Some integrated water system was in place, collected at higher elevations from rain.

Guardsmen eyed me from parapets. Their shields displayed Whiterun's crest, the image of a stallion's head. I wore a simple set of garbs with a cloak drawn over, given to me by Hod. The man's clothes were large for my frame, but I could no longer wear my fur coat. Helgen had left it torn, scorched, and stained with blood. The thought of trying to clean and mend the suit was disagreeable.

Cutting a proper tail hole in Hod's pants had been cumbersome enough. After the embarrassing failure of my crossbow, I had little faith in my handicraft.

I was allowed entry into the city without naysay, given stern warning not to cause trouble. The guards had no cause for concern. Placidity is my preferred state. The sun-kissed and stone paved streets of Whiterun were bustling with people going about their lives. Buildings shared a common timber design with king post roofs and scale-like shingling. Sounds of civilization filled the windless air.

If I had to describe the locale with one word, I would settle for 'fair' – fair in color, climate, and temperament.

Before seeing the Jarl, I thought it best to complete some commerce. Six hundred odd Septims were in my possession. I could afford to pay for proper crossbow repairs. I also requested a set of armor to be fitted by a smith. It would be a simple ensemble of leather, minus a helmet, for no one ever tailored them properly to shape, and I refused to saw off my horns. These two expenses alone almost depleted my fund. I have never claimed to be a good haggler.

Whiterun is divided into three districts, distinguished by elevation: the Plains District, Wind District, and Cloud District. Dragonsreach comprised Cloud. I walked past the merchant stands and shops in Plains, up to a city plaza in Wind. The centerpiece was a large dead tree called the Gildergreen. It stood as a symbol for Kynareth, the Cyrodiilic pantheon's goddess of wind, air and sky – called Kyne by some Nords. Though truthfully told, it seemed a rather unfitting symbol. Perhaps it was once, when it was alive.

I followed a steady stream of aqueducts and waterfalls up rock-laden stairways, eyes narrowed in the sunlight's glare. Upon the city's highest terrace, a bridge crossed over a man-made basin. It was my final passing point to Dragonsreach. I stepped into the Nordic palace.

The antechamber was immense, constructed almost solely out of timber with abstract relief work. The wood gave off an unfamiliar smell. Latticed windows lined the walls leading to the grand hall, where dining tables stretched the length of a great fire pit. Exquisite rugs and hanging banners were awash in soft firelight. Maids worked busily, their brooms brushing like unsynchronized metronomes. The Jarl, Balgruuf the Greater, sat slouched in his throne at the back of the room, his Steward in attendance.

Balgruuf seemed a stalwart Nord, his middle aged features set with a crop of blonde hair and a well-trimmed goatee hanging long from his chin. He wore regal attire, colorful embroidered cloth, and golden circlet inlaid with jewels. These were my first impressions of Skyrim nobility. As I walked toward the throne, I froze. A skull that once belonged to a creature of notable size hung from the wall behind the Jarl.

Its angular shape struck me at once – it was the skull of a dragon.

Though unpleasantly reminding of Helgen, the sight was a revelation.

The monsters could die.

"…cannot afford to act rashly in times like these. If the news from Helgen is true, well, there's no telling what it means!"

A conversation between the Jarl and his steward slowly came into earshot.

"What would you have me do then? Nothing?" Balgruuf retorted.

I strained to listen further, only to be stopped by the Jarl's housecarl, a Dunmer woman clad in leather armor. Her steel sword was drawn in my presence.

"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors," she chided, her Dunmeri accent dense against a tenor voice.

"I bring a message from Gerdur in Riverwood," I said. "The village is in danger."

The Dunmer drew an inquisitive look.

"As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people. You have my attention. Now explain yourself."

The Jarl and his steward had stopped conversing, their interest on me. My eyes flicked briefly in their direction.

"Forgive me, but I was told to bring this message directly to the Jarl."

"Whatever you have to say to the Jarl, you can say to me," the housecarl replied, eyes narrowing. "I'm starting to think–"

"It's alright, Irileth," the Jarl spoke up. "I want to hear what he has to say."

The woman let out a huff. Sheathing her weapon, she withdrew to Balgruuf's side as I stepped toward the throne. Large fire pits cast in bronze stood on each side, throwing misshapen shadows of the dragon's skull back against the cobble wall. The sight was unsettling, out of place amidst the palace's warm ambience.

"What's this about Riverwood being in danger?" the Jarl inquired. "Who are you?"

"Merely a wanderer, brought here by happenstance," I said. "A dragon has destroyed Helgen. Gerdur fears that her village may be next. I share this fear as well."

"Gerdur? Owns the lumber mill, if I'm not mistaken. Pillar of the community. Not prone to flights of fancy." Balgruuf stroked his beard with an air of hesitation. "And you're _sure_ Helgen was destroyed… by a dragon? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?"

My replying gaze was firm.

"I was there when it happened. I saw everything."

The Jarl sat up. Guards standing nearby risked glances at me.

"You were at Helgen?" the Jarl exclaimed softly. "You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

"Yes. It razed the entire village, cut down a garrison of Imperial legionaries," I said. "They were preparing to execute Ulfric Stormcloak when it happened."

"Ulfric," Balgruuf muttered. "I should have guessed he would be mixed up in all of this…"

He turned to his Steward, a bald and feeble looking Imperial, wearing a fine blue coat of gambeson.

"What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

He was about to speak when Irileth stepped forward.

"My Jarl, we should send troops to Riverwood at once," she advised. "It's in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains–"

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" Proventus interrupted, flustered. "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him! We should not–"

"Enough!" Balgruuf barked. "I'll not stand by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" He regarded his housecarl. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes my Jarl," the woman replied, heading off on her way. I was happy. Balgruuf seemed to sense the urgency of the matter. He placed the safety of his subjects over political concerns. The Jarl's eyes met mine.

"This is vital information you've brought to me. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it." Balgruuf turned to one of his guardsmen. "You there. Fetch me one of Eorlund's blades from the armory. This Argonian deserves a reward."

"Yes my lord," the man saluted.

Proventus looked defeated, but otherwise equable.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties," he said, walking away.

Within moments the guard returned, possessing a scabbarded sword. He handed the weapon to me. It was heavy, but not unwieldily so.

"Take this as a small token of my esteem," the Jarl insisted.

I admired the look of the sheath's deep brown leather, accented with steelwork. Clasping the hilt of the sword, I felt a slight eagerness to examine the blade.

"May I?" I asked, seeking the Jarl's permission. He nodded. I drew the sword half-way. Gleaming light from the room's fires played along its flawless surface of steel. Unabashed admiration crossed my face. Sharp, sturdy, flexible – this weapon was masterfully made. The blades of my spawning ground seemed like kitchen knives by comparison.

Was it normal for Jarls to present gifts such as this?

"Incredible," I spoke softly. "This is far more than I deserve."

"Keep it well," the Jarl said with a smirk. "That sword is made of skyforge steel. You won't find better craftsmanship in all of Skyrim."

I shut the blade in its holder, resting it at my side.

"You have my sincerest thanks," I said, smiling slightly. "If there is nothing further, I had best be off. Please excuse me."

Turning, I began to walk away, clearing three paces before the Jarl spoke once more.

"Wait. There _is_ something more you could do for me."

I paused.

"I'm certain there is," I replied, facing Balgruuf again, "but I must decline. This one is no sword for hire."

"You went out of your way to help deliver this message," the Jarl said. "Riverwood will have its aid. But the dragons are a threat we still don't understand." I listened intently, though some deep root of me felt apprehensive. "You survived Helgen. You've seen what they can do. And while you're certainly no Nord, you look capable."

"What do you want from me?" I asked warily. Balgruuf stood from his throne.

"Come. Let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and… rumors of dragons."

Balgruuf began making his way toward the east wing of the palace. Reluctantly I followed. Refusal was within my right, to escape the whirlwind of events that had swept me, there and then.

But if there was anything I could do to help confront the dragon's threat…

I knew none of these people, the Nords of Skyrim, and I understood them even less. Yet this did not matter. Their lives were at risk so long as that monster still flew. As with Ralof before, I would not sit by and watch. I would act.

Resting a hand on the pommel of my newly gifted weapon, I felt an old icy comfort in possessing a blade once more. Much like the people of this land, it was a stranger to me, as I was a stranger to it.

Acquaintance would come in time. The most I could do was think of a proper name for the sword.


	12. Arc 1 - Chapter 11

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 11 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Sundas, 15th of Last Seed 4E 201_

It was the day of my departure. I find it difficult to describe the mix of emotions I felt. My husband Ethyl and I walked together to a gathering at the mouth of the Dunmeth Pass, following a dirt road through the arid knolls and plains of the Velothi's rain shadow. Behind us, Blacklight appeared small and remote – the city capital of Morrowind, the last bastion of a once proud people. Its newfound scale and Dunmeri architecture had come to rival even Mournhold in its heyday, with grand buildings and towers set in igneous rock among hills of rhyolite. Nonetheless, it was a stark reminder of our ill fortunes. We had not yet escaped the aftermath of the Red Year. It would take years to rebuild the rest of the province, even more to reclaim it from Argonian occupation.

But that day would come in time. For the moment I had more paltry concerns.

I plodded along like a three legged creature, my staff reduced to the role of a walking stick. It was a treasured piece of work – trimereous sprigs of metal stemmed from atop its wooden shaft with a bright red crystal as its crowning piece. My staff of destruction, aligned to the element of fire. It was the only thing that justified my existence as a mage, a term I use loosely in self-reference. Clouds drifted lazily in the azure sky above the tops of distant mountains. My red-orange robes felt hot and dusty. A tote bag filled with belongings hung over my shoulder. I wished I had worn something better for travel, like Ethyl's hiking boots and light cloth garments.

"Why do I have to do this?" I groaned absent mindedly. My mood had only soured since we left.

"You've asked that question all week," Ethyl chided teasingly.

"And I'll keep asking it," I growled, staring into the man's eyes, as deep and red as mine. "Azura knows I'm at my wits end."

"Azura? By the three, _I_ know it better than anyone by now! You haven't been this talkative in decades," Ethyl said, chuckling at his jest. "For all your fuming, I'm surprised you didn't do more to avoid this trip."

"Would there have been a point? The Telvanni could ask me to leap off of a cliff and I'd still have to do it."

"Might do well to keep that thought to yourself. You'll give them ideas."

I laughed an unhappy laugh.

"That would pleasant for a change. At least they'd be listening to me," I said.

Ethyl rested a hand on my shoulder, giving a slight shake. He had a look of empathy, the ends of his bearded face raised in a big wrinkly grin.

"Now don't you start getting depressed," he said. "I don't need a mental picture of you moping your whole way to Skyrim."

"I wouldn't mope the whole way."

"Certainly not. Just most of it."

I smiled at that. He was probably right.

I had recently been asked by certain high members of the Telvanni, one of Morrowind's ruling houses, to entertain a task. The Maryon family was preparing to send their daughter to the College of Winterhold in Skyrim for further education in the arcane. Being of considerable wealth and influence among the Telvanni, the family sought a proper escort for the girl, to see that she might arrive at the college safely. Hired help notwithstanding, it was deemed fit that a representative of the house accompany young Miss Brelyna on her journey.

As a Retainer to house Telvanni, the second lowest title that can be held in their hierarchy, I was chosen for this task – to be, candidly speaking, a glorified chaperone.

"I only wish I knew why they left this chore to _me_," I said. "There must have been others more readily at hand."

"And do you suppose any other wretch would've been full of jolly cheer in your place?" Ethyl spoke with sudden solemnity. "There's good reason few Dunmer travel west, these days. You know word of war in Skyrim is rife."

"Do not remind me," I scoffed. "It will be just my luck to die somewhere remote, face down in the snow, trampled by a drove of skirmishing Nords."

Ethyl let out an odd, grouchy guttural sound.

"Are you bent on making me lose sleep? I'm quite content without these images of your ill-fated misery." He spoke in a playful snobbish voice, thought it concealed troubled undertones. We both remembered what happened the last time I left Blacklight.

"If there's a silver lining you see in this mess, by all means," I sighed, "I would love to hear it."

Ethyl pondered for a moment. A slight breeze whistled by, barely enough to ripple the fabric of our clothes. Strands of short dark hair blew in my eyes.

"Well, for starters," he began, "you _are_ traveling to the College of Winterhold, one of the few remaining mainstays of arcane study in Tamriel."

"True," I conceded.

"Plus, just think – they're bound to have some sort of library. That should provide you with all the sustenance you need for the time that you're there."

I could only laugh and shake my head. The man made a good point. It would be worthwhile to see what troves of knowledge were kept at the college. When it came to matters of magic, I felt I could never learn enough. Over years and decades of studious research, delving into every theory, conjecture and secret of Aetherius I could find, I had accumulated a vast wealth of arcane gen, close enough to match some of Telvanni's greatest spellwrights and wizards. No small feat for someone as young as I, having not even lived my first century.

And yet, by some curse of fate, I was relegated to the dregs of the great house's ranks.

You see, unlike my fellow mages, I possess no inherent magical ability. None. Not even the slightest hint. I can no more cast a spell than grow wings and take flight. Indeed my state is not so unlike a bird clipped of its extremities. You cannot imagine the longing frustration.

Or perhaps you can. It is of no difference to me.

Eventually we came within sight of my destination – a small village in the hills, where a carriage and my soon-to-be traveling cohorts awaited my arrival. From the tired look on Ethyl's face I could tell he'd had his fill of walking. It was time for us to part.

"Phew… Well, there you are my dear," he said, extending his hand out toward the village, "Your entourage awaits."

"Oh, such excitement," I jeered. "A band of pungent bodyguards and a meekly teenager. The companionship I'll have…"

I stopped and looked at my husband with mixed emotions.

"You didn't have to walk all this way with me."

Ethyl smiled. "But I wanted to."

I could think of nothing to say that would suit the moment, or my feelings. Ethyl, instead, came forward and kissed me.

"You'll be fine," he assured. "It's only for a week, is it not?"

"Yes," I said, smiling back.

With final goodbyes, we set off on our separate ways. I waved ahead to the carriage rider who had caught sight of me, hobbling with my staff. The trip _was _to be only a week. At least, if nothing else, I had that assurance to hold on to.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_The descriptions I've used for the location in this chapter are not lore-established. In truth, there are no definitive accounts of the region near Blacklight. Here, I've simply made guestimations based off of what I know about geography and what seemed fitting given my sparse knowledge of Morrowind. _


	13. Arc 1 - Chapter 12

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 12 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

Blegh. I hate the rain. A shower started pouring as I arrived at the town of Falkreath. I'd hiked there from Angi's cabin after staying overnight. We parted on… satisfying terms, if you catch my meaning. She even gave me one of her bows as a gift.

No arrows, of course, just the bow.

It was early morning. Couldn't find the sun, but there was enough light behind the clouds to still see where you walked. Water was drizzling down the needles of pine trees like tap from spigots. The whole village was settled in thick woodlands, with some slight clearing near a lumber mill. Everything else was pretty much what you'd expect – mountains, boulders, trees and Nord lodgings. Nothing fancy. Falkreath was ordinary. And _damp_.

Oh, but wait, did I mention there's a massive cemetery? No?

Falkreath is well known for its ancient ties to death and war, or so the locals will tell you – the same people who have nothing better to do than name places in town with puns. Grave Concoctions, Dead Man's Drink, Corpselight Farm. It's all a running joke to them. Got to give 'em credit for trying to lighten up the place. It sure was dreary. Folks went about their daily duties despite the rain, looking downcast and dismal. A few had creepy faraway eyes. Sometimes they'd mumble things.

As much as I hated Falkreath's macabre, I thought I oughta' stop by the graveyard and pay my respects before hitting the tavern. I'd get a bit wet, but the Nords under those tombstones were probably doing backstrokes. Felt bad for them. The last time I visited Falkreath I might have been… what, five? Six? One of those. Back then I was convinced the cemetery's graves went on forever. They don't, but even as an adult it was hard count them all.

Turns out I wasn't the only person visiting the dead that afternoon. There were three people gathered near a small memorial slab. One of them looked like an old high elf in soaked orange robes. I think he was the town's priest of Arkay. The other two were a man and woman, Nord and Imperial, both with skin tanned from years of farm work.

I walked over to them. The priest was praying. "May the spirit of Lavinia and all those who have left this world and its suffering know the beloved serenity of Aetherius… and may we one day rejoin them in eternity."

The elderly elf gave his final condolences and left the couple still lingering by the grave site. I stepped up to them, boots sloshing in the mud.

"Who passed away?" I asked gently, hoping I wouldn't seem a bother.

The man gave me a forlorn glance.

"Our daughter," he said, doing well to swallow back his sadness. "Our little girl. She hadn't seen her tenth winter…"

"My sympathies. How did she die?"

The grief-stricken look in that man's eyes made me wish I'd held my tongue.

"She was… He ripped her apart. Like a sabre cat tears a deer… We barely found enough of her to bury."

I caught the pain in those words like a sickness.

"I'm sorry… That's a real shame," I said. "I know the wilds out here can be a dangerous place."

I thought to say more, but something the man said suddenly didn't seem right.

"Wait, what do you mean _he_ ripped her apart?"

"It was Sinding," the farmer answered indignantly. "Came through as a laborer. Seemed like a decent man…"

"A _man_ did this!?" I exclaimed. "How? What became of him?"

"He's stewing in the pit while the guards figure out what to do with him. I just hope they decide on something soon," the man spoke with bitter resentment. Apparently this Sinding was locked in custody.

"That so?" I muttered. "Might have to pay a visit, then. See this 'man' for myself."

~ooooo~

Falkreath's prison was built underground beneath a barracks. The guards didn't give me any guff when I asked to see Sinding. Must've not been the first person. They treated my visit routinely.

One cell was set apart. It was like the bottom of a giant well. Murky light filtered through a small window up at ground height. Water was pouring in, trickling down the chamber's brick walls. The cell floor had filled to a shallow pool, where a scrawny man with mangled hair sat. He wore only a pair of ragged trousers, belted with a rope at the waist.

I tapped the iron bars of his cell door with the steel plate of my gauntlet. Sinding looked up from his resting place. His chest heaved a sigh.

"Come to gawk at the monster?"

"I can if it'd make you feel better," I said.

The man looked away. He was a pitiful sight, nothing but skin and bones. No strength in his muscles. _How did he…?_

"Heard you killed a little girl," I said, leaning up against the cell's iron door. "Any truth to that?"

"Believe me, it wasn't anything I ever intended to do," Sinding replied, standing up. His pants were soaking wet.

"Intent and deed are two different things," I snorted.

"You think I don't know that? I feel terrible about what happened. I just… lost control. I tried to tell them, but none of them will believe me."

Go figure. It was all some big misunderstanding. The man was innocent as sunshine.

"What do you mean you lost control? You're talking nonsense."

Sinding didn't reply right away. "What do you see when you look at me?" he asked.

I shrugged. "A man who could use a sandwich, maybe a few pot-roasts. How 'bout you tell me? What _should_ I see?"

"I suppose there's no point in keeping the secret if I'm going to die in here," he sighed, pausing for a little while. "I'm sure you've heard of men who shift to beasts under the influence of the moons."

I stopped slouching and arched an eyebrow.

"I am one of them," Sinding professed quietly. "A werewolf."

"You're a _werewolf_?"

"Yes. It's my secret. And my shame.

It was a lot harder not to laugh than you'd think. Werewolves. The stuff of bedside stories and fables. They were real, of course, I knew that much – those tales aren't told for nothing. But I'd never seen one in person.

Still, it made sense. His feeble frame didn't fit the crime he committed. If Sinding spoke truthfully, that meant the body I could see wasn't the one he used to tear up that girl.

"You said you _lost control_? How?" I asked.

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and silver.

"It's all on account of this blasted ring," he whispered.

"What ring? Speak up, man!"

Sinding walked up a set of steps to the door where I stood.

"This is the ring of Hircine," he said, showing it to me. It glistened in his wet filthy palm. "I was told it could let me control my transformations. Perhaps it used to. But I'll never know…"

Hircine. The man had the ring of a Daedric Prince. That was _bad _news. In case you don't know, Daedric Princes are demigods who rule their own planes of existence. They like to mess with mortals, people like you and I. They're nothing but trouble. Hircine is known as the 'Lord of the Hunt.' He's the one who fashioned lycanthropy in the first place, the disease that creates werewolves, and unleashed it upon Tamriel.

"Hircine didn't care for my taking the ring," Sinding continued, "so he threw a curse on it. When I put it on, the changes just came to me. I could never guess when. It would be at the worst times!"

"Like with the little girl?" I murmured.

The killer fondled the ring in his hands.

"When I saw her, I was just… I could feel it coming on, I could taste the…"

Sinding trailed off. He looked at me with deadened eyes.

"I needed to hunt."

At least the man was conscious of what he'd done. Not that that made things any better.

"If that ring's caused you all this trouble," I said, "why do you still have it?"

"I thought I could try to appease Hircine," Sinding replied, "beg his forgiveness and give back the ring. But that's over now isn't it?"

He gave the ring to me through the bars.

"Take it. You bothered to listen to my story. I don't want anything to do with this wretched thing anymore."

Holding the ring in my hand, I looked at it more closely. A small wolf's head was shaped on the slick silver band. It wore a vicious snarl.

"So, what," I grumbled, "do I go throw this in a lake or something?"

"If that's what you want, I won't be the one to stop you," Sinding said, returning to his cold puddle. He didn't feel like talking anymore.

~ooooo~

I walked back out into the rain, wishing it would clear up already. My mood had gone south. Couldn't wait to get to that tavern. I'd had enough death and depression for one morning.

I fiddled around with the ring while I walked. It was heavy for its size. Fat chance I'd be able to sell it for any decent coin. Nothing to do but find a place to chuck it and leave. Rolling the silver band around in my hand, it seemed pretty large. How did that scrawny man wear a ring so big without it falling off all the time? I slid the ring onto my finger to see how it would fit me.

Of all the dumbest dumb things I've done in my life…

The moment it slipped on, I could feel the band begin to tighten. I tried pulling it off. Wouldn't budge. I tried pulling harder. It was stuck. I'd have to take the whole finger with the ring.

I looked around, hoping no one noticed me getting flustered all of a sudden. Sinding said the ring was cursed. I double checked everything about myself – heartbeat, breathing, hair on my skin. Was something supposed to happen? I didn't feel any different.

For the life of me I couldn't remember all that Sinding had said. Something about his transformations coming at the worst times. What else had I forgotten? Then it came to me: the ring only affected _when_ he changed form. The changes themselves didn't come from the ring, they came from his lycanthropy.

The curse wouldn't do anything to me because I wasn't a werewolf.

This left a bit of an awkward feeling. The ring was dead weight, but I had no way to remove it. The thing would just be there, on my finger, for Shor knows how long. Shrugging to myself, I let the problem slide to the back of my mind. I'd have to find a way to get it off another other day. Maybe see a wizard or something.

The tavern was a much needed distraction. The bright glow of a warm charcoal fire greeted me inside. I stood near the heat for a while, drying myself off. Scents of the building's pine wood mixed with sweet ale. Nords were talking, eating, and drinking happily. There was a group of revelers gathered in a corner, farmers or lumber workers from the look of their clothing. The sounds of their laughter rang through the room.

"Hail, friends!" I called out to them, a wide grin on my face. "Good to see some people are enjoying themselves this dreary day!"

The three Nords looked over to me and let out a cheer.

"Aye, what else are we s'pposed to do?" one of them said back to me gleefully. He wore green and brown cloth with a leather cap on his head. "Come, come! You look drenched as a dish rag!"

"Feel like one too," I groaned, stretching my arms.

I took a seat on the table the group was gathered around, propping my legs on one of the seats.

"Valga, another round!" the man called to the barkeep.

"Bah, make it four! One for him and rest for me," I shouted.

The woman brought us our drinks. I downed my first mug quickly, wiping the foam from my mouth. "Ysmir's beard, I needed that," I muttered, feeling satisfied as the ale warmed my stomach.

"So what brings you to Falkreath, traveler?" the Nord with the cap asked.

"Passing through," I said. "I've come from Cyrodiil to see my family."

"Fine thing, that. Where're you headed?"

"Helgen," I replied, sipping another mug. "Not far. I'm sure you've been there before. We'd always get visitors from Falkreath while I lived there."

The man's face seemed to sober. His expression was troubling. The other two drunks burst into roaring laughter over some joke they'd made.

"Helgen?" the capped man murmured. "Your family was at Helgen?"

"Yeah," I said, trying to play down his change in tone. "Nothing strange about that."

"You haven't heard?"

"Heard what?" I asked, annoyed and confused.

The Nord looked to his companions, still taken by their fits of bubbling mirth.

"Hey you two, knock it off. This guy's from Helgen. He doesn't know what happened."

I stood from my seat. Something felt wrong about this. One of the man's friends settled down. The other, completely wasted, kept a blank stare.

"What don't I know? What's happened?" I asked anxiously. "Tell me!"

The drunken man started cracking up. His laugh ticked me off. I stomped over and grabbed him by the collar. His jollity vanished.

"Stop laughing!" I barked. People about the inn hushed their conversations. I turned to the other Nords. "Are you going to fill me in or not?"

"Helgen's gone, friend," the capped man said softly. "Destroyed."

His words tumbled in my head. The shirt of the drunken man slipped from my fingers.

"No… That can't be," I whispered. "I'd just gotten a letter no more than a week ago."

"They say a dragon attacked," the man said, "burned everything to the ground. There's nothing left."

_A dragon? A _dragon _attacked Helgen?_

"Are you so drunk you can't get your story straight?" I growled, voice rising. "What kind of fool do you take me for!?"

"I wouldn't have believed it myself either, but a bunch of soldiers passed through here… _survivors_. Even had a general with 'em! I swear by Arkay it's true! Dragons have returned to Skyrim. Word is spreading like mage fire about the–"

I cut him off and stormed away, slamming through the tavern's door with a beat of my fist, stepping out in the cold rain. Its chill brought goose flesh. I started running down the road. Some part of me believed their story was true, feared it something fierce, but I needed to see for myself.

_What's wrong with this town!? Werewolves? Dragons!? Is all of this real? Has Skyrim fallen to madness!?_

My boots nearly caught in thick puddles of mud. Water slapped against my face. I knew the path. Didn't need to think. It was all from memory.

I ran to see what truly became of my childhood home.

And what became of my family.


	14. Arc 1 - Chapter 13

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 13 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

The morning brought rain. Its constant patter filled my ears – a pleasant sound, so nearly the same no matter where encountered, like a dear friend met time and again. My scales were satisfyingly moistened in the downpour.

I found myself on the returning path to Riverwood, moving along a winding road that steeped and coiled near White River falls. The roar of its rapids came louder than ever, torrent bolstered by the weather. The surrounding greens were damp and darkened beneath a thick curtain of clouds. Riverwood was not my destination. It was merely a point of passing. I traveled at an early hour to avoid being seen.

As I walked over a rise, an ancient stone ruin arose into view, peaking atop a range of mountains.

Bleak Falls Barrow.

~ooooo~

The previous day, back in Dragonsreach, I had no inclination of what to expect when Balgruuf introduced me to his court wizard. The thin Nord wore a blue robe with white trimming and kept a hood pulled over his head, hiding a narrow face with thick brown mutton chops.

Balgruuf spoke to the wizard as he and I entered his quarters.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your project. Go ahead and fill him in on all the details."

The man kept a cluttered but neat workspace, tables and shelves rife with notes, books, alchemical ingredients, and even a few soul gems. He appeared to have a craft for potion making and enchanting. Many alembics and beakers lined his desk, with an arcane pentacle set upon a table near the back of the room. Farengar lingered his attention on a hefty looking tome before addressing my presence.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? What for?" the wizard said lazily, his mind clearly occupied with other tasks. "Oh, yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons…"

"That is the assumption," I replied. "What would I–"

"Yes, yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me," Farengar interrupted, standing from his seat.

"Err… Pardon? This one–"

"Well, when I say _fetch_, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

At least the wizard was forthcoming.

My face hung a look of annoyed reluctance. I turned to the Jarl, half expecting and half hoping he might say something more sensible. I was given nothing of the sort, merely stoic silence. Sighing, I turned back to Farengar.

"Alright," I muttered, "where exactly do you need me to go? And what I am looking for?"

"Straight to the point, eh?" the wizard replied, smiling. "No need for hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?"

I returned an impatient glare. Farengar continued uncomfortably.

"…I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. A 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites."

Odd. What service would such a thing provide? Were there truly burial sites dedicated to dragons?

"I have not heard of this place, Bleak Falls Barrow," I said, deciding to leave my questions unspoken.

"It is an old tomb," the wizard clarified, "built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself."

_Dragon War?_

"Ah. Maybe you just want to know how to get there," the man sighed. "It's near Riverwood, a miserable little village a few miles south of here."

My thoughts refocused.

"So you're asking me to–"

"Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred within the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

"How are you so certain this Dragonstone actually exists?"

Farengar folded his arms. "Well, must retain some professional secrets, mustn't we? I have my sources. Reliable sources."

I paused for a moment to consider all that had been said. I knew too little to feel comfortable with this errand. I also knew time was of the essence. In the face of such a colossal threat, even _my_ paranoia could be swayed.

"What do you say, Argonian?" the Jarl prodded, seeking a response from me. "Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons – we need it quickly, before it's too late."

I was unsure how a map of dragon graves would further this goal. Did the mage seek to study their remains? After mulling for as long as I could, I gave my answer.

"I will do this for you," I said, speaking in low tones. "A single assignment, if it will aid your efforts as you say. But nothing more. My concerns are for the people of this hold, not your research."

~ooooo~

Rain became snow as temperatures dropped with rising altitude. The buckled armor that had been fit for me in Whiterun was warmer than my previous attire, though a bit tight. Its brown leather was inland with insulating fur, a welcome work of Nord ingenuity. I hiked along the side of a mountain with Riverwood in view below. Bleak Falls Barrow rested at the crest of the path. These cliffs were small compared to the Throat of the World, but they were nothing to scoff at. I needed to watch my treading – patches of ice and sleet were gathered everywhere among the rocks, hidden beneath blankets of fresh snow.

I inspected the ground carefully for footprints as I walked. Any that lingered would not do so for long, before being filled again. There was no reason to assume anyone else had come this way, but I had not survived so many years by being reasonable.

My caution paid off. I stumbled upon faint traces of boot tracks. Some three or four people had traveled to the barrow. No prints returned in the opposite direction. It was safe to presume they were still there, alive or otherwise. I double checked my equipment, pulled over my hood, and retightened the straps on the scabbard of my sword.

I had decided to name the blade _Xehtasken_. It loosely translates "resolution" from Jel, my native tongue. The sword rested firmly against the waist of my armor, as fine a killing tool as I had ever possessed. I only hoped its steel would have no need to stain red, not just yet.

The wind began to howl as I turned a banking curve along the path, raising my hand up to my face. Snow whipped against me, flecking the fur and leather of my clothing. Bleak Falls Barrow unveiled from behind hills of rock. Even in the blinding winter, one could not mistake its dark form. Grand stone arches, adorned with decorative carvings, aligned parallel to one another in a rising slope. The crypt had been built firmly into the mountain side. Large flights of steps inclined on either side of the ruin's outer terrace, leading to more stairs that ascended to the entrance.

Such a peculiar style of architecture, so grandiose… and all for burying dead? I could not tell if the stone carvings were abstract or meant to resemble figures. A few looked like heads, long and angular, reminiscent of beaks or snouts. They were difficult to see clearly, at any rate, while a storm blew. I was eager to get inside but not so eager as to become hasty. There remained the matter of potential company. Entering through the front would be foolhardy – what better way to be spotted? I scaled the steps to the upper terrace and wound around to the side, in search of another way in.

A portion of the barrow's antechamber roof had given out, exposing a large opening where once stone work had lain. Under normal circumstances, getting inside from such a point would be impossible. The wall stood at least a story high, slick with ice and snow, while the mountain's slopes looked far too treacherous to climb.

But there were means in my possession to overcome such obstacles.

I ran my fingers along a set of vials holstered at my waist. Each contained a unique alchemical fluid that served its own purpose. Their contents sifted through my mind: Histcarp toxicant, Taproot and White Cap extract, Withering Moon with Mandrake Root…

Stopping at the fourth vile to my left, I pulled out the container and held it up to my eyes. Its whitish yellow contents sloshed inside the glass, thick and viscous. The ingredients of this potion were not completely known to me. I suspected some component of Dreugh Wax. Popping open the vial's cork, I raised the glass to my snout and swallowed a portion of its contents. The chalky acidic mixture slithered down my throat. I returned the container to my belt and waited a brief moment, licking the roof my mouth.

Then, with a spring of augmented strength, I leapt over ten feet into the air and cleared the top of the wall.

My claws dug into rocky ice as I caught myself mid-vault, hanging over the wall's lip inside of the barrow. I needed only a split second to map the room. It was dark and gloomy, built with autochthonous rock that matched the mountains. Moss grew everywhere, tinging the stonework in olive drab. I was surprised to see it withstanding the cold. Two large columns held up a vaulted ceiling, while snow fluttered down from skylights, settling onto rubble that littered the barrow's floor.

Rank scents filled my nostrils. I saw corpses of gutted skeevers, large rodents native to Skyrim. A makeshift campfire flickered near the back with sleeping bags nearby. A man and women stood by the flames keeping warm. They looked to be Nords garbed in fur and rawhide.

Both were armed, one with a mace, the other with a bow.

I dropped down as quietly as I could, taking cover behind remnants of the fallen roof. Sounds of conversation were distant and vague. I moved in closer, keeping to the shadows. My tail attuned to act as a counter balance with each careful step, distributing my weight perfectly along the floor. Years of training and mastery manipulated every movement. Silent. Calculated. Precise.

Pressing against the farthest column from the man and woman, I eavesdropped.

"We're just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with the golden claw?" the female asked her companion.

"That Dark Elf wants to go on ahead, let him," the male replied. "Better than us risking our necks."

Outlaws? Treasure hunters? I was unsure who these two were, but my intuitions told me they were hostile.

"What if Arvel doesn't come back? I want my share from that claw!"

"Just shut it. Keep an eye out for trouble."

I wanted to know what they were talking about. An interrogation, however, would risk a fight. There would be no killings if I could help it. I would manage well enough on intuition, so I devised a plan to slip past the pair.

A large clay pot, partially broken, stood across the room. I picked up a chunk of rock on the floor and took aim.

"What trouble? You think that shop keeper's going to send someone? Nobody's coming after us."

The rock tossed through the air, crashing into the pottery. Its clattering echoed through the chamber. I withdrew as the two Nords startled.

"Did you hear that?" the man asked, reaching for the blunt instrument at his waist.

"Was it another skeever? I don't see anything."

"Dammit… Wait here. I'll check it out."

I listened carefully as the man's footsteps grew louder. He came over to inspect the shards of clay. I inched around the column, placing it between me and the Nord's vision.

"Well? What is it?" the woman called out impatiently.

"Nothing. I don't–"

The man stopped mid-sentence, whipping his attention to the sound of my knife tapping three times against a stone.

"Huh? Hang on, I hear something," he said, bringing his weapon to bear.

The Nord moved toward the sound with a quick and impetuous gait. He circled to the back of the column. I circled in unison. A second pillar further down kept the woman from seeing me.

"Ah-ha!" the man uttered in premature triumph as he came to the spot where I once was. Frowning, he lowered his weapon, only to recoil at the sudden sensation of a blade slicing his hand. The man's grip loosened reflexively. I pulled away the mace from his grasp. Before he could turn around, I rose and snapped my arm around the Nord's neck. The crook of my elbow constricted his jugular veins, off-hand locking the arm firmly in place.

"Thtachxuto jeer-c'ei tsuqlop," I hissed in Jel as the struggling man slipped from consciousness.

Carefully timing the duration of my blood choke, I slackened the noose of my hold and kept the limp Nord caught in my arms. There was no way to know how long he'd stay out, though he would be disoriented for a time. Best not to dawdle.

"Hogvir?" the woman exclaimed. "Hogvir, what's going on?"

I repositioned near the edge of my cover, dropping the Nord to the floor in clear view of the campfire. A clanging of his mace soon followed as I tossed it nearby.

"By the Eight!" she swore at the sight of her fallen comrade. The woman drew her bow as she backed against a wall, eyes peeled for movement.

"Xhuth, no… don't stay there…!" I cursed softly, peering from my hiding place.

She wasn't going to check on him. That made things difficult. I snuck closer to the campfire until a final barrier of rubble was all that flanked me against its light. I readied my crossbow and contemplated where best to wound her…

Then I heard movement. The woman started walking. I glanced over, sighing in relief. She was going to the man after all.

I slinked past and rushed down the corridor beyond as quietly as possible. With luck, my disruption would dissuade the Nords from pursuing. But I was not about to bank on such a fortune. I weaved through the ancient crypt at a brisk pace, hoping to leave those two well behind. My goal remained further within the heart of the barrow. Darkness, rock, and earth cloistered me. I fought back against a growing discomfort.

Until the Dragonstone was in my possession, I would not return to Whiterun. I never left assignments incomplete.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_On the mystic focal point – I don't really know what purpose it serves. The idea, though, that the college could channel magicka seemed cool to me. I have no idea if it is cannon, though, so don't treat it as such. It isn't an essential plot point._


	15. Arc 1 - Chapter 14

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 14 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Tirdas, 19th of Last Seed 4E 201_

We arrived at the College of Winterhold after two days of miserable travel. The frigid climate of Skyrim was numbing and blustery. Snow had not ceased to fall since our crossing the border. It reminded me of the ash from Red Mountain, the way its igneous plumes engulfed the island of Vvardenfell. I wasn't accustomed to traveling long distances and found myself quite homesick. Nevertheless, I had to remain at the college for three more days until the traveling guard would make its return trip to Morrowind.

Light from candelabras bathed across the pages of a book, nestled in the cradle of my arm. Liminal Bridges, by Camilonwe of Alinor. It was one of the few gems I managed to dig up from the surfeit of rubbish those professors called a library. There were few texts worth reading that I hadn't read already, with the rest not even worth a passing glance. The college's Arcanaeum contained an overall acceptable collection of literature, but the archives of the Telvanni at Blacklight still reigned supreme. Ethyl had gotten my hopes up too high.

With the other mages of the college either busy with their own private studies or instructing the lasted clutch of initiates, the Arcanaeum became my retreat. The dark stone masonry of the dodecahedral chamber seemed to keep in the cold rather than ward it away. Wooden book cabinets with tinted glass panes lined the outer walls. Mounted heads of sabre cats hung above, while animal skin rugs were laid below, overtop the tiled ceramic floor. The architecture of the college possessed a distinct arcane flair, though its adornments were unmistakably Nordic.

I continued to sit and read for some minutes, trying indolently to lose myself in my studies. The urbane voice of an old man prompted my attention.

"Ah, forgive me – Falura Andrilo, was it?" he said. I looked up to see the visage of Savos Aren, Arch-Mage to the college, standing before me. "I was told you would be here, but I wasn't aware you were busy. Perhaps I should return another time?"

I closed my book and set it on the table beside me.

"Oh don't bother," I replied. "I'm merely wasting away the hours. To what do I owe this visit?"

Savos took a seat across the end table beside me. This was the second time we had spoken since my arrival. The first had been a brief greeting – the sparsest exchange of titles and words. He was a very busy man. The wrinkles of his dark countenance betrayed the age of a Dunmer whose energy seemed unusually youthful. Not in the sense of adolescence, but more of what you might see in a person's prime. I suspected him to be at least a few centuries old. His robes were adorned with coarse furs and masterfully embroidered, giving him an authoritative appearance. A long beard stretched down his chin and a slim hood dressed his head.

"We have not yet spoken at any length since your arrival," the Arch-Mage said. "Most unbecoming of me. I understand this trip has been something of an inconvenience for you."

"Quite. The choice to come was not mine," I replied. "But I'll not be the one to deny a request from the esteemed wizards of the Telvanni."

"You show dedication. They are fortunate to have someone like you among their ranks."

"Pah. I'll hear none of that. I act in courtesy. The Telvanni would deny me such an acknowledgement, anyway."

The Arch-Mage had an inquisitive look.

"You feel they disrespect you?"

"Not so much disrespect as disregard. They waste my time with menial tasks."

"Is that so surprising? We must all begin somewhere. You still remain beneath their tutelage. Clearly some part of you is determined to be worthy of favor."

I had to think on my response to that comment. I wasn't sure if he knew of my stunted magicka.

"Indeed. I've much life yet unlived and many things to prove," I said, "I oughtn't give up my aspirations in the face of repudiation, however perpetual it may seem."

Savos returned a slight grin, thoughtful but oddly provocative.

"No, you shouldn't," he replied matter-of-factly. "Come. We'll speak more outside."

"Very well," I conceded, rather than suggesting we remain inside, as I should have.

I picked up my staff and left with Savos to the college courtyard, where students and mages walked and talked. The snowy enclosure of arctic fauna sat within a half-circle of three-story walls, with tall arched windows, reminiscent of a colosseum. Cornices of ice hung like claws over the topmost edges. The rest of the college exterior rivaled a castle in form.

Magelights – balls of pure aetherial illumination – floated around the courtyard, their purpose to provide light after dark or during bad weather. In the center was a stone sculpture depicting a mage with open arms, robes blowing back, standing in front of a column of blue light that shot into the sky from a mystic focal point. The college itself could draw power from Aetherius, channeling magical energies not unlike a living soul, to be used for the purposes of study and experimentation. Or to garishly decorate a courtyard with Magelights.

Snow blew into my eyes with the morning wind. It was a dreary, cloudy day. Savos and I walked to the edge of the courtyard. Its walls provided scarce shelter from the snow but lessened the bite of the wind. The Arch-Mage seemed perfectly comfortable in the cold. I imagine I would have been too if my robes were as laden with fur as his.

"Low visibility in all of this snow," I said, pulling a hood over my head. "Such a shame. The view of the sea must be lovely."

Savos didn't respond. He merely gazed out into the fog of snow.

The college stood atop an impossibly thin column of rock, at least a fifth of the actual building's diameter. A narrow stone bridge was all that connected it to Winterhold, the village at the other side of the cliff.

Winterhold was a ghost town, yet I heard it had once been a bustling and prosperous city. About eighty years ago, half of Winterhold crumbled away into the Sea of Ghosts, after being battered by monstrous and inexplicable waves. Yet the college somehow remained intact, perhaps protected by arcane forces. This led to accusations that the college had caused the disaster, souring its reputation in the eyes of the local Nords.

"I don't know how you manage in this place," I remarked, resting my staff against a wall. "Between the cold weather and inhospitable natives, Skyrim seems a caustic environment for the work your mages do here."

"Most of us have grown accustomed to the weather, and the pressures of the world do not weigh down on us as you might think," Savos replied. "Besides, someday the College will be fully accepted by the Nords."

"Is that your belief or your desire?"

"I don't think it makes a difference. Our college has survived much. For as long as it remains, we will remain with it."

I stared off into the sky. Clouds were thinning. The snow flurry had begun to slowly subside.

"I must ask you," Savos said, keenness in his voice, "it has been far too long since I've heard any news. How have our people fared in Morrowind? I hope you can give a proper firsthand account."

"I wouldn't know where to begin," I said.

"Have the great houses made progress regaining their strength?"

"Somewhat, yes… Redoran has established its governance militarily, as I'm sure you know. The other houses are at its beck and call. Their combined forces have staved off further incursions from the Argonian invaders."

"They haven't reclaimed territory?"

"No," I spoke tersely. "They still occupy much of the southern region. Those lizards have dug their claws in deep. We will not take back our land without great bloodshed."

"You sound like you would welcome this." Savos sounded concerned.

"Do I? I am not a battle mage. Warfare is no desire of mine."

"But you think it is necessary."

I learned forward against the cold stone wall, stern in temperament.

"I _think_ that the Argonians will regret their decision to bring wanton violence against the Dunmer. The centuries of their conquest must come to an end."

That, at the very least, I wholeheartedly believed. I won't pretend my resentment wasn't deeply personal. But enough was enough. The Argonians of Black Marsh deserved to pay for the all lives they'd needlessly killed.

Savos scratched an itch on his face.

"Well, it is not–" he managed to say, before his words were short by a sudden booming noise. A roar echoed through the air. Both he and I were startled.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, frantically looking about for the source of this strange cry.

"Out there, in the sky! Look!" I exclaimed, pointing toward a clearing in the clouds.

There was a winged creature in flight, circling above the peaks of faraway mountains. Its hide shone brightly – whitish grey, almost silver. The creature was enormous in size, with sharp spines protruding along the length of its body from head to tail. It glided on the wind with grace, bellowing ferocious roars, flaunting its might and majesty. It appeared weightless on the air.

Mages and students walking about the courtyard quickly gathered near the walls, coming to witness the marvel before us. Others peered out from their study windows. I was practically leaning over the edge of the wall, captivated, trying to see as best as I could.

Morrowind is host to all manner of fantastic beings – netches and silt-striders among those most noted by outlanders – but nothing like what I saw that day. Eventually the beast descended, disappearing into the alps. Murmured conversations broke out through the courtyard. I hadn't the wits about me to settle down.

"By Azura," I whispered ecstatically. "Savos, what _was_ that?"

"I'm… I'm not sure…" The Arch-Mage faltered. He had a strange faraway look, both shocked and melancholic at once. I stretch my powers of perception in saying this, but it seemed as though he had recognized something.

"You've never seen this before? Really? Has _anyone_?"

"No," he said quietly. "I believe we've just witness the first living dragon in thousands of years."

~ooooo~

_Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E 201_

Wide awake despite a lack of sleep, I fastened my tote bag over my shoulder. A fur cloak and hood complemented my robes, adding much needed layers of warmth. The mountains of Skyrim would not be welcoming.

Yet despite the hostile voyage that awaited me, I struggle to recall another time in which I felt such excitement. My preparations were nearly complete. I assembled all of the resources I could, stocking up on a few spell scrolls along with soul gems to keep my destruction staff charged. The Three willing, I wouldn't have to use it.

"You're serious about going?" the Arch-Mage remarked, standing in the doorway of my guest quarters. "With a party perhaps I could see, but by yourself? It could be very dangerous."

Clutter littered every thinkable space in the cramped room, from my desk to the blankets on my bed spread. Books, scraps of paper, ink pens, and maps – all the residue of a full night's worth of research. I would clean it all later. If I was to find that dragon, I should have begun my search the day before.

"I hope you're not here to badger me. I'll get enough of that from my husband when he hears of this," I chuckled, enunciating my words with gusto. "There's no need for undue alarm. I'm taking all necessary precautions. I'll be back before my escort begins its return to Morrowind."

"Are you certain this is wise? There's no way to know what power the dragon possesses. It may be best to leave it alone, for now."

I stopped to regard the old Dunmer. His tired eyes met mine.

"I shall confess, I'd never even heard of dragons before yesterday," I said with a smile on my face, "but my investigations thus far have given me good insight. They're remarkable beings! And to think they haven't been seen since the second era! When will another opportunity as this present itself?"

None of my research had yet earned a place among the Telvanni's archives. But _this_ would be different. No studies had been performed on dragons, surely not in any depth. This was knowledge yet to be gathered, an unexplored horizon. It was impossible to envisage what I would discover, though one thing was clear: I had to find something worth bringing back.

"Well… It's obvious I can't say anything that will change your mind," Savos relented. "I won't delay you any further."

Giving a curt farewell to the Arch-Mage, I left the confines of my quarters and stepped out into the courtyard. The sky was crystal clear for the first time since my arrival, breaking dawn. I pulled out a map and glossed over it. The dragon had flown somewhere near the southern ranges of Mount Anthor. I hoped to catch a glimpse of the winged beast again somewhere in that region and find where it was roosting.

Taking my first steps across the bridge to Winterhold, my excursion began.


	16. Arc 1 - Chapter 15

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 15 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

"Talen! Another round!"

The sound of a drunken Nord rang through the inn. His name was Vulwulf. If the first thing you noticed about the old man wasn't his stately clothing, expensive furs, mangy beard or bloodshot eyes, it was the stench of alcohol on his breath. Talen-Jai, the bartender, was busy cleaning food plates. His muddy green scales and bright orange throat glistened in the light of the inn's fireplace.

"I think you've had enough, Vulwulf," he said, his voice deep with a raspy Black Marsh accent. "Maybe you should head home."

"You stupid lizard!" the Nord bellowed, slamming his mug on the table, clattering silverware. "I said give me some more drink! Or I'll have your head on a pike!"

"Suit yourself," Talen shrugged, setting down his rag.

This was the sort of sad sight I got to watch on a regular basis. At least Talen seemed used to it. He and his partner Keerava ran the inn, The Bee and Barb. It was a sturdy but timeworn lodge, with log walls and creaky floor boards that sounded hollow when you step on them. A few people were seated at tables eating midday meals.

With Talen busy tending to the intoxicated, I picked up his slack and started cleaning plates myself. I knew I'd get an earful from Keerava if I didn't. The woman's a tyrant with hired help. In exchange for a few days' worth of bed and board, I had to work at the inn – at least until I could contact the Thieves' Guild. Not exactly my idea of high living, but I wasn't in a good place to refuse. The only other option was to stay in the city sewers.

Those two did me a favor, taking me in at my time of distress, and I don't forget favors. I'd find some way to repay them down the line. They were decent people. It surprised me, though, that they got along so well as a couple despite their starkly different personalities.

Keerava was the innkeeper, a pale, tan scaled woman with a nasty scowl and guff attitude. She'd be the first person to kick your ass out the door if you were broke. Didn't take crap from anyone either. I once watched her break up a bar fight all by herself. The woman's not afraid to throw her own punches. Talen, on the other hand, was easier on the eyes, a more kind and gentle soul. He would be the one to try and work out a conflict through conversation instead of a brawl.

A small group of people walked in through the front door and took seats.

"Hey, Talen! Get off your lazy tail and help the customers!" Keerava badgered, busy wiping down the front counter.

"Keep your scales on!" Talen chided. "I'll be there in a minute."

Did I say those two got along well? Let me rephrase that. They got along _most_ of the time. As for me, I just tried to stay on their good graces. On the whole I'd settled into Riften pretty well. It'd been less than a week since I first arrived and I was already recognizable to a lot of folks. If they didn't know me by name, they knew my story.

Surviving a dragon attack has a way of giving you sympathies and a scary reputation.

Working at an inn helped me get a good sense of the city and its locals, too. I could learn about almost anyone I needed, just by talking with the right people. Don't believe me? Allow me to demonstrate…

Vulwulf, the drunk I mentioned earlier, is patriarch of the Snow-Shod clan and a heavy supporter of the Stormcloak rebellion. His drinking habits became rampant after he lost his daughter to the war. Vulwulf's wife is Nura, a healer and priestess. Their two remaining sons are Unmid, the Jarl's housecarl I met some days ago, and Asgeir, whose betrothal to an Imperial woman in Solitude was creating friction in the family. I knew where to find their household and had a rough idea of its floor plan too – in case I ever needed a little extra welfare.

Information is a commodity for thieves. The more you know, the better position you're in at a moment's notice.

Some hours passed uneventfully. The inn was empty, minus a few straggled people. With most of my daily chores completed, I decided to take a break for a while.

"I'm heading out for some air," I called to Keerava.

"Make sure you're back here in time for dinner," she nagged in her scratchy voice. "We're expecting a full house tonight."

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, waving a hand behind me.

The warm afternoon sun greeted me as I walked to Riften's marketplace. It was a round plaza bustling with commotion. Heavy sounds of talk and banter muffled the cries of hawking merchants. Beggars sat on their mats and pleaded for alms at passersby, while city folk went about browsing wares, gossiping, working and running errands. Aromatic scents mixed with marine odors from the lake and lower canals. The town square smelled like no other place I know.

At a glance, Riften was a beautiful city – attractive, bright, and filled with energy. I'll tell you what, though, whoever came up with the phrase 'looks aren't everything' would have a field day in Riften. It was rotten to its innards. My run-in with Maul had only been a lick of the icing. The people, the politics, the law and order… nearly all of it was corrupt, controlled by the Black Briar family. Those few who were honest wanted nothing more than to leave. The rest were either dirt poor, splurging on the wealth of others, or locked away in prison.

With my talents, I knew I could make a living in Riften, maybe even thrive. But I didn't know if I really wanted to.

A light breeze rattled the silver rings that hung on my curved horns like wind chimes. The only set of clothing I had to wear was the one Keerava lent me, at Talen's insistence. Lucky thing we were nearly the same size, though I didn't delight working in a corseted chemise and skirt. Especially not the godsdamned skirt. I _hate_ skirts…

I readjusted a shoulder strap that kept rubbing against my burn. It still stung like Oblivion whenever something touched it. I'd finally saved up enough coin to see a healer, but by then I was told nothing could be done. They didn't have the means to fully restore my shoulder, for whatever stupid reason. I could only relieve the pain temporarily by applying poultices now and then.

It was all so maddening. Riften had become my dungeon. I was too afraid to even leave the city walls for a walk. Nothing would be worth another meeting with that dragon.

Heaving a bored sigh, I stared off at the clouds. Coming to Skyrim with Lisaa and Ertius was the latest in a long line of vain attempts to better my circumstances. The problem was, I didn't know how to. There was still a glimmer of hope in the guild, but I'd been drifting for two years with no sense of direction, trying to pick up the broken pieces of my life. I had my regrets. I was going nowhere fast. Teenage runaway, notorious thief, dejected vagrant, and now this.

My ambitions didn't mean a damn thing if I couldn't make something of myself. What was I lacking? Maybe things might have been different if I wasn't so eager to always take the first opportunities that came to me. The thought was depressing. _Might have_ and _mud_ are fine places to wallow.

Shit, I sound like my mother…

Anyway, I'm getting off track. While I was standing on the outskirts of the marketplace, the voice of a man spoke behind me.

"Running a little light in the pockets, lass?"

I turned around to see a red-headed Nord with a chiseled jaw line and rugged features, wearing a coat of leather and gambeson.

"Excuse me?" I sneered.

"Your pockets… They're a little low on coin," he said with a smirk. "I can tell."

I let out a huff.

"Good observation. Damn right I'm _low on coin._ It's not exactly subtle."

"Aye, it certainly isn't. I'd say it's a real shame."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I turned my back to the man. "Go piss in the lake. My wealth in none of your business."

The man folded his arms. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong lass. Wealth _is_ my business," he said, still acting the slick talker. "Maybe you'd like a taste?"

I'm betting the guy didn't know what subtly even was. Either way, that was all I needed to hear. This was the man Maul told me about, the one who could get me into the Thieves' Guild. Brynjolf. I was sure of it. I changed my tune.

"Maybe I would," I said. "What did you have in mind?"

"I've got a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid."

I assumed this was going to become some sort of test. At least the guild knew how to handle recruitment. That was promising, right? I turned to face the man again.

"Just get to the point. What do I need to do?"

Brynjolf came closer, speaking in a hushed voice.

"Simple… See those two merchants over there?" He pointed at two stands across from each other in the marketplace, manned by a Dark Elf and an Argonian respectively.

"Brand-Shei and Madesi. I know who they are," I said. "One's a trinket peddler and the other's a jeweler. Neither's well off. What about them?"

"Listen carefully," he began, "I'm going to cause a distraction and you're going to steal Madesi's silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei's pocket without him noticing."

_That frames him for theft, _I thought indifferently.

"Sounds like he got on somebody's bad side. What'd he do?"

"There's someone that wants to see him put out of business permanently. That's all you need to know. I've been contracted to make sure Brand-Shei remembers not to meddle in affairs that aren't his own."

"_Contracted_?" I snorted. "Gods, this is starting to sound like a hit job."

"We're not going to kill him," Brynjolf said, sounding ever so slightly annoyed, "We're just going make sure he sits in the prisons for a few days."

I thought about the man's offer. Didn't really know Brand-Shei all that well. I had nothing against him. Nothing _for_ him, either.

"When do we do this?" I asked

"Whenever you're ready," he replied.

I threw him a puzzled glare.

"Right now? You got some kind of tight deadline?"

Brynjolf frowned. "That's confidential. Can you handle this job or not?"

"Oh, sure! I just love the idea! Let's go and rob a merchant stall in_ broad daylight_."

He frowned harder. "What is it with you and all these quips? You're trying my patience, lass."

I laughed.

"Relax. I can handle the work. We can start now – I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

The Nord slackened his scowl, raising an eyebrow. Hopefully he didn't notice my hesitation. Oh well. Nothing ventured…

"Alright then," he said. "Wait until I start the distraction, then show me what you're made of."

I walked away, edging around the town center nonchalantly. Brynjolf strolled over to a merchant stand of his own, bringing out a display set of strange red bottles.

"Everyone, everyone! Gather 'round!" he hawked. "I have something to show you that demands your attention!" Brynolf must have had quite the reputation. People flocked to his voice. Brand-Shei, Madesi, and the other merchants left their stalls. I stared at them.

_They're just… leaving their wares unattended? How stupid are they? _

But then I noticed guards circuiting the outside of the marketplace, keeping _very_ close watch. All the stalls were rung around the inside of a circular waist-high wall, easy to check behind. I tensed. Madesi's stand wouldn't conceal me from the back, especially not with the sun so high. Had I been too quick to assume I could pull off the job?

As I slowly inched toward the Argonian's stall, one of the guards stopped his patrol behind it and stood in place. He threw me a languid look before shifting his attention else ware. He was ignoring me. Purposefully. I assumed that the man was in on the job. So long as he was there, the others on patrol wouldn't suspect anything was amiss.

I'd underestimated Brynjolf's plan. For an initiation, it was awfully elaborate. I looked at the crowd gathered around the red-haired man. _Anyone else out for a piece of this pie?_

"No pushing, no shoving! Plenty of room!" Brynjolf called out.

"Come on Brynjolf, what is it this time?" Brand-Shei grumbled.

"Patience, friend. This is a rare opportunity, and I wouldn't want you to get left out."

I was careful to watch the eyes of the crowd, slipping behind Madesi's stall while no one was looking.

"Lads and lasses, I give you: Falmer Blood Elixir!" Brynjolf announced, holding up one of his bottles. A few groans rose from the mass of people.

"Oh come now," Brand-Shei said, "are you talking about the snow elves?"

"The one and only. Mystical beings who live in legends and were masters of great magic. Imagine the power that coursed through their veins!"

I hunkered down and inspected the laced wood-work of a small sliding door beneath the counter. There was a single lock, a standard pin tumbler. Easy. I reached for an iron lockpick inside one of the pouches on my dress.

"How did you get that, then?" Madesi questioned. "No one's seen them in years!"

"My sources must remain a secret for their own protection," Brynjolf replied, "but I can assure you that the contents are genuine."

"That's what you said about the Wisp Essence, and it turned out to be crushed Nirnroot mixed with water!"

The lock gave way and turned as I pressed its final pin into place. I quickly slid open the door. Another guard was walking toward us. The one behind me turned his head. He intercepted the man, delaying him with conversation. Nothing like a little extra tension to keep the heart pumping.

"That was a simple misunderstanding, but this item is the real thing."

I pulled Madesi's strongbox forward. It was also locked, but with an angled key hole. A straight pick would be useless. I slipped my iron lockpick back into its pouch and swapped for another made of copper. Gently bending the metal into shape, I repeated the process from before, only this time much more carefully.

Copper lockpicks break easily and I was using the only one I had. No second chances.

"One sip of the elixir and your wishes will be granted. Great wealth, everlasting life, or perhaps limitless power could be yours!"

I could feel the pick strain to keep its form as I applied torque. Slowly…

"How much does it cost?"

"Only twenty gold septims! Hurry before my supply is gone!"

"Don't listen to him! He's making this up!"

Done. The lock made a full rotation and opened. I popped up the lid of the strong box. There were trinkets and undiscernible items inside, along with a big coin purse. First I looked for the ring. It was near the bottom of a corner. I slid the band of silver out and dropped it into my pocket. Then I admired the purse.

From the look of the inside, it was holding at least three hundred Septims. Not a bad sum to have on a rainy day. But…

_They say Madesi's homeless, sleeps in a drain tunnel…_

"Learn a library's worth of knowledge in moments!"

I closed the strongbox and slid it back, leaving the money. Brynjolf put a lot of effort into setting up this job. Taking anything more than the ring would just cause complications. Besides, if I needed the coin there were other places I could get it from. _Wealthier_ places.

"See into other people's thoughts!"

Pulling a small mirror out of my pocket, I adjusted its angle to view the crowd and patrolling guards, careful not to reflect sunlight in somebody's face. I had to see where everyone was looking before I made a move. Timing my motions just right, I slinked across the marketplace, using everything I could to obstruct line of sight – the well, merchant stalls, barrels and crates…

By the time guards came over to Madesi's stand, I was nowhere near.

Folks in the crowd noticed me as I stood in the open, but they were none the wiser. Some had actually started purchasing bottles at Brynjolf's stand. To think they really fell for his ploy! People are so stupid.

Brynjolf saw that I was up and about. I gave a slight nod, looking away as I reached into my pocket, twiddling the ring in my claws. The red-haired man glanced at the sun.

"Well, I see that my time is up," he declared, suddenly packing his merchandise. "Come back tomorrow if you wish to buy!"

Confused and irritated murmurs arose from the gathering. They scattered, resuming their day as normal. I walked toward Brand-Shei, pretending not to notice where I was going. I bumped into him. Madesi's ring loosed from my hand and slipped into the Dark Elf's pocket.

"Hey, be careful!" he snapped.

I turned to the man, holding my hands up yieldingly. A smirk rose on my face as I spun forward and kept walking. I left the marketplace and strolled out to a boardwalk above Riften's canal. From the mouth of the waterway was a view of Lake Honrich, clouds and mountains reflecting on its surface. It was a short wait for Brynjolf to arrive. I heard his footsteps clopping on the wooden planks behind me.

"'Falmer Blood Elixir?'" I chuckled. "They teach you how to make up crap like that in the guild?"

"Natural talent, lass," he said, stopping beside me. "But never mind that. It looks like I chose the right person for the job." Brynjolf kept his countenance cool, though he did sound pleased. He handed me a bag. "Here you go… your payment, just as I promised."

I loosened the string on the bag's mouth and checked inside. The sack held about one hundred Septims. A bit stingy for something so high risk, but I didn't feel like contesting my wages. I actually had fun conducting Brynjolf's little con job; my heart was still racing. It'd been too long since anything challenged me.

"So," I said, hands resting over a wooden guardrail, "I take it this means I pass?"

"Quick to catch on, aren't you?" Brynjolf remarked.

I grinned. "Of course."

"Well you certainly don't lack for confidence."

"That too. How'd you single me out? I only mentioned my interest in the guild to one person."

"Maul. I'm well aware. He's the one who gave me the tip, after all. I don't usually take the word of former guild members, but that man's an exception."

"Oh really? What'd he have to say about me?"

"Nothing I haven't heard plenty of times before. I like to give new recruits a fair shake, though."

"Afraid I'd be full of hot air?"

Brynjolf leaned on the guardrail beside me. "You could use some deflating, lass. But at least you've got skill. You did the job and you did it well. Best of all, there's more where this came from… if you think you can handle it."

I had to hand it to the man. He gave a convincing show. For the first time in years, things were looking a little brighter. Maybe my luck was finally changing.

"I hope you're not suggesting I can't," I said with a smile.


	17. Arc 1 - Chapter 16

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 16 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

A spark from flint striking steel flashed in the darkness of the crypt. Within moments, bright orange flames were dancing atop the bundle of my torch. It was the only one I carried. I doubted it would last until I could reach the Dragonstone.

The tunnels of Bleak Falls Barrow plunged deeper underground. I did not enjoy skulking through the halls of that forgotten place, decrepit and dust laden. Nothing of the barrow itself brought on my discomfort, despite it being filled with vermin and the deathly stench of preserved bodies.

I strongly dislike the feeling of being trapped in tight spaces. It makes me anxious. I struggled with this for years as a hatchling. An Imperial scholar who studied the mind once called me something… What was the word he used…?

Hmm… I believe it was _claustrophobic_, or something to that effect.

Candles and fire pits further within shed light flickering flames. The shadows of embalming tools and Nordic sculpture work played tricks on my eyes, appearing to be moving apparitions against the Barrow's cragged walls. Someone had come through here and lit the path prior to my arrival. I assumed it could have only been the doing of the Dunmer named Arvel, as the two Nords back at the surface had mentioned. He was the one who possessed the 'golden claw,' though I still did not know what that was.

Nature had well begun to overtake the barrow, slowly enveloping man's craftwork, returning it to the form from which it came. Torchlight glinted off of silvery spider silk. Branching pathways were sealed by rock slides. I made my way down a rickety spiral stairwell of wood, watching rodents and night crawlers scamper at the sound of my footsteps. The barrow itself must have been hundreds if not thousands of years old.

My anxiety was becoming difficult to cope with. I staved off the onset of fretful feelings by focusing my thoughts on the Dragonstone. Farengar said it was within the main chamber, but he was unable to tell me precisely what it looked like. I only knew that the Dragonstone was a stone tablet. More specifically, a map. I was careful to examine every inch of the crypt I could, overlooking nothing.

Upon leaving the stairwell, I advanced through a hall. There was a sudden crumbling behind me.

Rocks clattered to the floor, echoing through the Barrow. I drew Xehtasken free from its scabbard and spun around. It was not a cave-in, thankfully, merely a small dislodging of rock. Perhaps a patch of dirt had given way. There were no other signs of movement, audible or visual. Nothing alive was behind me, at least which posed a threat.

As I sheathed my sword, a man's voice called out from further yonder.

"Is… Is someone coming? Is that you Bjorn? Soling?"

I hissed under my breath. Quick to smother the flame on my torch, I crept onward down a corridor to find the source of the voice. I stopped at the entrance to a large room and peered inside. A shaft of bluish light filtered down from a hole in the rocky ceiling, revealing particles in the air. Some comfort was taken in seeing signs of the surface. There was a large iron grate on the floor, covering an empty pit. Nearly everything in the room was damaged or destroyed beyond recognition. Shattered pottery and broken stone lay scattered. I could only guess what purpose the chamber once served.

Standing near the room's exit was a Dunmer, torch held in his hand as he scoped for signs of trouble. He was pale skinned and slender faced, wearing a set of rough hide garbs. A studded helmet adorned his head and an iron sword rested at his side, along with a leather bag slung over his shoulder. He had no ranged weapons, though I could not discern if he was versed in any arcane arts.

Still, by all appearances, I had every advantage.

Deciding it was time I acquired information, I rose from my crouch and came into the open, standing in the shadows on the opposite side of the room. The man jumped at the sight of me, drawing his blade.

"What!? Who in Arkay's name are you!?" he cried, his voice carrying a thick Dunmeri accent.

"Forgive me if I am not inclined to introduce myself. I've not the patience for it," I replied, foul tempered. "You are Arvel, yes?"

"How do you know who I am?" the Dunmer stammered.

"The others gave mention of you."

"Huh? Why'd they…?" Arvel trailed off, coming to a sudden realization, "Gods, they're dead! You killed them, didn't you!?"

"No, but I imagine they are rather shaken up. They will not be joining us."

"Then why'd you come here? For the treasure? You here for it too?"

"What I seek lies within this barrow," I said, "and you have the means to help me find it. Am I wrong in this?"

Arvel spat on the ground. "I ain't got nothing to say to you, lizard."

Slowly I pulled out my crossbow, making sure its clangor was loud as I loaded ammunition.

"Come now, there's no need to be so cross," I hissed, taking aim. "Either way, I'll not be accepting refusal. You _will_ cooperate."

The Dunmer cursed at the sight of my weapon.

"What do you want from me?"

"We'll start with the golden claw. What is it?"

"You don't know?"

"Answer the question."

Arvel paused.

"It's a key. The key to this place. Can't reach the treasure without it."

"How did you come to possess this key?" I asked.

"Why does _that_ matter?" he cried. I glared at him harshly, gently pressing the trigger of my crossbow. Arvel resigned.

"We took it from a merchant in Riverwood," he muttered. "Fool didn't even know its true worth. Kept the thing on display like some kinda decoration!"

"Then it doesn't belong to you, does it?" I said. "Perhaps you'd care to give it to me. I would like to see it returned when this is said and done."

"Or what, you're gonna shoot me?" Arvel goaded. "You won't get far doing that. I'm the only one who knows how to use this thing!"

"That makes no difference," I bluffed, taking a step forward into the light. "I'll find what I'm seeking, with or without you. When I do, if you are still alive, you will be free to leave and take whatever you wish that I have no need for."

"Sure I will," Arvel mocked, rolling his eyes. "How dumb do you think I am? I don't trust you for a damn minute."

"Your alternative is to die where you stand. Be considerate of your options."

The Dunmer winced. He would not be able to talk his way out of this. Arvel reached into his bag, pulling out the solid gold ornament. It was reminiscent of a dragon's claw, but disproportional. Three long curved talons jutted from the foot, while a series of carved markings extruded from its sole.

"Keep the claw in the bag. Toss it to me," I ordered. "And sheath your weapon."

Arvel complied as I moved toward him. With a light swing, the bag sailed through the air. I caught it with my free hand, keeping my weapon raised. I slung the bag over my shoulder. Arvel begrudgingly holstered his sword.

"Good. Now, since you seem to know more about this place than I, you will be the one to lead. We'll stop in the event of danger," I said. "Start walking."

The Dunmer scowled, flipping me off as he trudged onward. I kept close behind, hoping beyond all hope that he was not foolish enough to think he could best me. If he tried anything, I would not hesitate to kill him. My survival in this task was paramount.

Arvel led us further into the barrow. Swirled and spiraled patterns of stonework covered the walls, ceilings, and floor, giving the rock an almost organic appearance. We found ourselves amid ancient catacombs, tall rooms supported by thick stone columns. Corpses of entombed Nords lay in niches along the walls. Some were wrapped in cloth. Others were merely bones. More still retained a thin pasty skin that coated their skeletal frames, adorning what I could only assume were sets of ceremonial armor, made of leather and rusted iron.

The two of us crept softly through the catacombs. I felt a strong unease, eying the many wall mounted charcoal pits, molded into the shapes of eagle heads peering down at the ground. Their embers illuminated the room.

"Why are all of these fires lit?" I growled. "Is this your doing?"

"Of course not," Arvel scoffed. "They're probably magic or something."

"These flames have no air of magicka. They've been maintained conventionally."

"That's nonsense."

"Hardly. It is possible that this place is tended to."

"By who? Just what are you getting at?"

"I am saying we–"

A quiet shuffling sound came from the rear. I spun around, catching the sight of a pair of legs sitting upright from one of the rock-cut tombs.

"We're not alone!" I exclaimed.

The figure stood. It was none other than one of the corpses, standing as though alive. An insipid whiskery beard lined its emaciated face, frozen in a menacing scowl. The monster reeked of decay. Its eyes began to glow an iridescent blue. My eyes darted around the room as more bodies began to shuffle and rise from their resting places. They each drew weapons of worn, blackened steel.

These were not zombies in the traditional sense. They are known simply as _draugr_, Nord warriors cursed with un-death and tasked to guard the many crypts and barrows of Skyrim's ancestors.

"What is this!? What's happening!?" Arvel exclaimed.

"Hold your ground!" I barked. "Don't let them surround you!"

The Dunmer was not inclined to test his mettle in a fight, seeing instead an opportunity to abandon me.

"Forget it! This is your problem now!" he hissed. "I'm out of here!"

Arvel took off down the catacombs. I spun back, snarling at the man's cowardice. I would not let him get away – he could make off with the Dragonstone. As I aimed my crossbow, however, I noticed something behind a column of rock down the corridor. There were a set of metal hinges swung back, only just visible. I looked to the rock tile floor. One of the tiles was raised slightly above the others.

It pressed down as Arvel stepped on it.

"Wait!" I shouted, outstretching my arm as though to catch the man and pull him back.

Too late. Upon triggering the pressure plate, the concealed hinges swung forward, snapping from a source of tension like the release of a bow string. They dragged with them a grated wall coated in steel spikes. It slammed into the Dunmer, stopped mid-swing, and began to crank back into place. A grinding and wheeling of unseen mechanics clattered through the room. Arvel's lifeless body clung to the spikes as would a fly caught in the sap of a tree. Blood drizzled and spurted from his puncture wounds.

"By the Hist…!" I cursed, reeling in shock.

Footsteps. I turned around and met the gaze of a draugr approaching with a war axe in hand. I jumped back and fired off my crossbow. Its bolt sank into the draugr's forehead. It staggered for a moment, before the glow in its eyes faded away, and it fell to the ground. These were no ordinary undead. Attacking their vital points still killed them, as though their organs retained function. Did life still linger in the abominations?

More were closing in. I withdrew my crossbow, unable to reload it fast enough.

Xehtasken flashed from its scabbard as another draugr lunged at me with a downward strike. I sidestepped and sliced off the monster's arm, reaping the penalty for stepping into my range. The draugr's head rolled on the floor with a second swipe of my blade. Pinning the severed arm down with my boot, I pried the axe from its calcified fingers.

Armed in each hand, I met my undead assailants with all the fury I could muster. The next draugr swung at center mass with a two-handed sword. I ducked and swayed my momentum toward the attacker in a crouched dive. Xehtasken severed the it's legs from underneath. Rising, I spun clockwise, glancing aside the blow of another sword with my axe. I snarled and plunged Xehtasken through the aggressor's bare torso. The draugr staggered back, hilt and pommel protruding from its chest. A third corpse came to attack me. I lobbed the war axe from my left hand to my right, took aim, and threw the weapon. There was a splitting crack as the axe blade split into the draugr's skull. It crumpled to the floor as I turned back to the other, pressed my boot against its chest, and kicked Xehtasken free.

_Four down. How many remain? _

I started counting.

_Two… No, three… Four more…!?_

Draugr continued to wake and bear arms. I was outnumbered five to one. Premonition told me there were others to yet to come. I began slowly backing up. The unnerving, guttural voices of the undead mocked me in a foreign tongue, laughing and flaunting their weapons.

"Bolog aaz, mal lir!"

"Dir volaan!"

"Daanik Dovahkiin!"

Fighting on would be a death march. It was time to flee.

I whirled and broke into a sprint down the corridor, stepping around the pressure plate that had killed Arvel. The draugr gave chase. As I raced through the catacombs, corpses continued to emerge from the innumerable graves I passed. They rose to stand against the trespasser that disturbed their sleep, wielding swords, axes, clubs and bows.

I stopped counting after twelve.

Arriving upon a narrow hallway, I nearly overlooked a tripwire strung across the base of its mouth. I stepped over and dashed down the hall, looking back to see the hoard that pursued me. Those in front were unmindful of the wire, breaking it as they shambled through. There was a brief creaking and groaning before vicious swinging axe blades began to oscillate from slits in the walls. Draugr were cut down as they tried to advance in complete disregard of the danger. Split limbs and dried rotten entrails spilled through the hall.

For a moment I stopped, thinking that their numbers would be quelled enough for me to confront the remainder. It was foolish optimism. The momentum of the blades began die down, until they merely hung from their pivots. Draugr started skirting past them. I ran.

_This place, this horrid place! It is bent on killing any who enter! _Was it all to guard the Dragonstone? A mere map? Or was there something more...?

The catacombs transitioned into a natural cave formation deeper within. I raced through the cold and damp caverns, filled with glowing mushrooms and babbling groundwater. The sounds of footsteps behind pushed me onward into the unknown. I did not know where I was going. The path was leading somewhere, perhaps the main chamber. A fear that I would arrive at a dead end began to eat at my thoughts. Combined with the anxiety of being trapped underground, I had to fight down the fear welling inside me.

There came a doorway. I slammed through it, arriving once more in an architectured room. Most of the ceiling had collapsed. Few scattered rock columns remained for support. A large cauldron of fire near the back served as the chamber's sole source of light. Beyond it was a set of double doors and another draugr, clasping a large battle axe in both hands. Aside from the helmet upon its head that bore curved decorative horns, there was nothing that set it apart from the others.

No sooner was I proven otherwise. The draugr lowered its weapon in one hand and began to form a swirling ball of frost in the other. A destruction spell. The foe outstretched its arm. I dove for cover as a spike of ice hurdled through the air and smashed into the wall behind me.

Swearing at this unwelcome setback, I pulled out and reloaded my crossbow, taking a deep breath before charging out of cover. Cerulean light flashed as I cast a ward. The draugr volleyed another icy spear, striking the face of my spell with considerable force, but not enough to break through it. I closed the distance, dropped my ward, and raised my weapon. With a swift trigger pull the crossbow's bolt sailed into the draugr's chest. It staggered back. Xehtasken struck the monster down. There was no more time to waste.

Thinking quickly, I grabbed the corpse's weapon and burst through the double doors ahead, using the axe to bar them behind me.

All was still.

Eerie silence deadened the hall. Wax candles and pits of glowing coal gave scarce light. A vaulted brick ceiling ran the length of the passage. There were carvings on the walls that rendered surreal images – robed figures carrying sarcophagi and depictions of men and women clothed in eccentric garments, radiating power and magic. They appeared to tell a sequential story, perhaps the chronology of a time long passed. Were I not in a desperate run for my life, I would have perused the walls further.

Dashing to the other side of the tunnel, I stood before a large, black stone door. Swirling patters of relief work surrounded a circular apparatus, with carvings of three animals descending down toward the centerpiece. It was a disk that bore an image likeness of the golden claw, three holes near the top for each of its talons. Hurriedly, I reached inside Arvel's bag and pulled out the ornamental key. It sunk into the holes of the disk and pressed it into the wall. The device seemed to function like a tumbler lock. I tried turning the claw with my wrist, rotating the disk in either direction.

Nothing happened.

I examined the door more closely. A stone covering hid the lower half of the apparatus. The three animal carvings were set in large rings of stone, offsetting inward as they enclosed toward the center disk. They depicted a moth, an owl, and a bear. A frightening idea dawned on me. I raised my hands up to the topmost ring and tried to rotate it. Sure enough, the ring gave way. A new carving appeared from behind the lower covering. It was another owl. Each ring was the same. They rotated between three interchangeable animals. My stomach sank into my feet.

The key was not enough. The rings on the door formed a combination lock.

Draugr bashed against the bared door at the back of the hall, slamming metal against wood. Their uproar was doom to my ears. Had the combination been lost with Arvel? There was no time to test every possible arrangement. I felt a crashing wave of hopelessness. Could I do nothing more than guess? Leave my fate in the hands of luck? I held the claw in my hands, feeling a series of rough extrusions on its underside. I flipped it over.

There, on its sole, were three carvings in descending order: a bear, a moth, and an owl.

By the time I fully comprehended what my eyes had seen, I was already sliding the first ring into place. Then the second. Then the third. I could hear wood splinter behind me. The door would not hold much longer. As the final ring rotated beneath my claws it snagged on something, jamming in place.

"Kaah! No!" I roared, hammering my fist on the infernal contraption. "C'ee to kaoc' niihm! Come on!"

I pulled out my knife and pried it between the rings, teeth clenched, trying to dislodge whatever it was stuck on. My heart throbbed in my ears like a drum. At last the ring gave way. I spun it into place, scooped up the golden claw, pressed it into the disk, and twisted it back and forth before pulling it free. The rings began to gyrate on their own, aligning their carvings by animal. The stone covering on the door's lower half sunk into the ground, revealing the full ringed mechanism.

In spurts of movement the stone door descended, retracting into the floor.

A crash resounded from the rear. I turned just in time to witness the draugr pouring through. An archer back among the hoard loosed an arrow. There was a sharp, flaring sting as the missile struck beneath my rib cage. I cried out, hurriedly stumbling through the doorway to a large flight of stairs on the other side.

I was dead. Whatever hope I still had of escaping pursuit ended with that arrow. The slightest exertion brought agonizing pain, razors carving me from the inside. I could not run for long with the wound, nor stop to treat it.

Yet as I struggled to climb the stairs, the puzzle door began to rise. I looked back. Slowly, surely, it closed shut. There was a brief muffled pounding on rock from the other side. Then nothing. All noise ceased. I breathed in quivering breaths.

I had escaped.

I fumbled up the remaining steps in darkness. Reaching the flight's peak, I hastily dropped my bags and slumped back against a wall. The glow of a healing spell became my light source as I left it idle in my hand. I sawed off half of the arrow's shaft with my knife and began unbuckling the belt of my chest piece. I took it off, exposing skin, scales and blood beneath.

The steel arrowhead had managed to punch through my armor, entering deep enough to cause bad internal lesions. Wiping my knife with a cloth, I prepped to use it as a lancet. Field surgery is far worse when performed on oneself _by_ oneself, but I had little choice if I wished to survive. I dug into the wound with my blade, widening the point of puncture, until I could reach in and remove the arrowhead from my body.

Once the bloody work was finally done, I cast a healing spell on my chest and wiped my hands clean.

A long sigh heaved from my muzzle. The pain was gone, as were my pursuers. I managed a weak sounding laugh. I thought for certain I was going to die, but it seemed I would have to keep living after all…

Too exhausted to carry on, I quickly fell asleep.


	18. Arc 1 - Chapter 17

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 17 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

Standing at the gates of Helgen, or what used to be, I stared numbly. The tale those woodworkers had spun was true. Completely true. What I once knew to be a modest hard-working village sat wasted, a charred bunch of wrecked homes and crumbled walls. The only things left untouched were the mountains. They towered over the scene beneath drizzling rain clouds.

Overwhelmed, confused, enraged, I started meandering through the empty streets.

There were no fires or smoke. Days after the attack, whatever fuel the flames had to consume was gone. Broken stone and lumber lined the roads, along with scattered belongings of the former townsfolk. Pots and pans, patches of cloth, broken swords, a shoe or two. Houses had already been ransacked for valuables.

And the bodies – Talos have mercy, the bodies were _everywhere_. You couldn't tell a man from a mer! They were all charred and blackened. Big ones, small ones, bits and pieces.

You get to be a bounty hunter as old as me? You see death. Plenty of it. It's part of your job, your livelihood. Never met a Nord worth his salt who'd get squeamish at the sight of blood, even his own. But if balking at the sight of that village makes me a milk-drinker, I'll take my damn milk to Sovngarde. I wasn't just looking at a bunch of killings. I was looking at a massacre.

By Shor, you don't see that much death and feel _nothing_!

I stopped at a small burnt down cabin and felt a pang of grief. I recognized the entrance. It used to be my property. There was a wood plank with rusted nails on the door frame, still bent in a crooked slant that made closing the door a fit of labor. Guess nobody ever bothered to fix the thing. It was one of those chores I always meant to do, but never did. When ma left me alone in Helgen all those years ago, the deed to the house got passed to me. I only stayed a few months before I packed my things and set off for Cyrodiil. Don't know who took the place after that.

I shuffled inside, expecting the roof to still be over my head as rain poured on me. Floor boards creaked and groaned in protest with each step. There were a couple of bodies in a corner of the bedroom, one caught under a fallen bookstand. The back wall had a hole the size of a cow ripped through it. Acrid scents were filling my nostrils. I left the wrecked cottage and returned to the village streets.

Helgen was gone. I felt ashamed. I should have been there, fighting back against the dragon. What greater battle to die in? Surely Shor welcomed the men and women who fell that day in his hall with open arms. They bled and fought to the last, defending their home.

But it was _their _home. I'd left. It was only mine in my memories. Maybe I hadn't the right to defend it.

I saw my aunt and uncle's house farther down the road. It was past a large pile of rubble that blocked the path. I climbed over, careful to watch for sharp rocks or splinters, and jumped off into a puddle. Corpses were sprawled in the village square. A black Imperial flag hung damp on its mast nearby.

The emblem was still visible – a red dragon, of all things.

So much for the empire's legion. They got humbled by the creature they branded as their symbol. Not that the symbol meant much anymore. It might've during the Septim dynasty, when emperors still had dragon blood, but those days were long gone.

Suddenly I heard commotion inside my family's house, sounds of footsteps and clanging metal. I nearly tripped running toward the doorway before skidding to a halt. Two men stepped out. One was a Redguard with corn rows and some leather garbs. The other was a green skinned Orc – not a big one by any stretch but fierce looking, wearing sleeveless fur clothes. They both had crude axes of iron.

I saw the Orc carrying a bag. They'd stuffed it full of bits and bobs from the house.

"Hey!" I called out angrily. "What do you think you're doing!?"

The scavengers startled and grabbed their weapons.

"Ah damn, not another one," the Orc grumbled.

"Back off! We got here first!" the Redguard exclaimed.

"What's in that bag? What did you take?" I demanded to know.

"Nothing the poor sods here'll miss. And nothing we're sharing. Get lost!"

My blood was boiling. Damned vultures! I wanted every excuse to kill them.

"You show some respect for the dead!" I barked, pointing my finger accusingly. "Put back what you found! None of it's yours!"

The Orc snorted. "Oh really? I'm the one holding the bag. Last I checked, that makes it mine."

"Last warning, friend," the redguard said. "Turn around and leave! This loot is ours."

I drew my greatsword.

"That _loot_ belongs to my family!" I yelled. "You take it over my dead body, you hear me!?"

My words brought a sneer to the Orc's face as he dropped his bag.

"Ha! And here I thought today was gonna be boring."

The two men came to me, armed and ready for a fight.

That Redguard ran headlong into my spacing and sidestepped what he thought was a straight downward cleave. His was taken aback at the sight of my sword circling to the other side and slashing across his waist. The man's guts spilled out on the ground. I faced the other scavenger. He wavered at the sight of his dying friend. I charged with a fierce battle cry, blade level to ground as I ran through the Orc with the all the force of a charging mammoth.

Both those men were dead from the start. Just took 'em too long to figure it out.

~ooooo~

I arrived at the edge of the White River, dipping my sword into its current. The rushing water wiped away loose stains of blood. I rubbed off the rest that was caked and sticky with a cloth. Done cleaning, I sat down on a wet rock, surrounded by damp flowers and bushes.

_Now what?_

I'd come all the way to Skyrim to reach my aunt and uncle, but they were both gone along with Helgen. All I had left of them was everything the scavengers scooped into their bag. I sat for a while, sulking and wet, rummaging through my family's belongings. Most of it was worthless. Plates, bowls, and a few simple tools. The only things that had any value were a silver spoon and a horker tusk.

I didn't toss anything away. Couldn't bring myself to. I'd either find a use for the stuff or get tired of carrying it. Whichever came first…

The rain was gone and dusk settled in with a deep orange glow. I remembered there being another village somewhere down the road called Mosswood. No, wait, _Riverwood_. That was the name. Seemed as good a place to go as any.

I only ever visited Riverwood a handful of times as a lad, made trips for lumber now and then. It was the closest place besides Falkreath that had a mill. The village gateway emerged down the road and I noticed guards on patrol along its top. A cluster of makeshift tents and sleeping mats told they didn't have a proper barracks to stay in. The village wasn't known for being well fortified like Helgen. The Jarl of Whiterun must have lent some extra muscle after hearing about the dragon attack. Good thinking on his part.

Riverwood's lumber mill was hard at work, manned by a single stout looking fellow. Strong scents from the river and puddles of mud hung in the air. People had gathered inside their homes, finishing dinner meals or relaxing after a hard day's work.

I made for the tavern. A sopped wood sign hung from iron chains, branding a frothing mug of ale and the words 'Sleeping Giant Inn.' Sleep didn't sound so bad, especially after all the running it took to reach Helgen. But first I had to finish the drinking I started in Falkreath, more than ever. I walked up to the inn's porch and stepped inside the door.

The place was dingy. Tables set with rickety old stools, food stuffs lying about, floor unswept and the like. Didn't bother me any. I was looking just as mangy as the inn, I'd wager. We had both seen better days.

A gruff black haired bartender was standing behind a counter. The innkeeper emerged from a room to the right. She was a middle aged woman, Breton maybe, with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. She wore a stitch-riddled dress and corset. If you saw her you'd probably feel as uncomfortable as I did. She wasn't ugly, or anything, far from it. She was intimidating. There was an edge to the way she poised herself – the sharp gaze of her blue-grey eyes would make you want to hide under a rock. The woman strolled over to the bartender, looking mildly irritated.

"The corn stores are getting low again, Orgnar," she said.

"Yup," the bartender replied, leaning lazily on his haunch.

"Wait, let me guess. You'll get to it later."

"Don't I always?"

The woman folded her arms.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to take care of it now, could I?"

"No."

"I should have guessed… Something to be said for honesty, I suppose."

Call me impressed. That bartender had stones – he didn't even flinch for the woman. Something told me those two got along famously. The innkeeper glanced in my direction as I took a seat at the table closest to the door.

"I'm heading out for a while," she said to the barkeep. "You mind tending to the customer?"

"I can see him, Delphine," the man grunted.

She walked by me. I felt myself shrink a little bit beneath her stare.

"Big old crowd o' nobody in here," I said. "You enjoy the silence?"

"We don't get a lot of travelers here in Riverwood," Delphine replied, stopping next to me. "The war keeps most folks away these days."

"Aye…"

There was an awkward pause.

"So what's your story?" she asked. "Just here to... relax?"

"Sure. Let's go with that."

"You look like you could use an ale."

"Ha… You oughta charge people for mind reading. Bet you'd make a fortune."

Delphine turned to the bartender. "Orgnar, get this man a drink, will you?"

"Comin' right up," he said as the woman left, shutting the door behind her.

I sat at my table and waited, tugging on the ring of Hircine. It was still stuck on my finger. Blasted thing. I could just imagine my buried corpse wearing it to the grave. Was I ever going to get it off? I slapped the back of my hand on the table angrily, as if it would hurt the ring and make me feel better. It just made my hand sore.

_Am I supposed to go back to Cyrodiil now? Move on with my life?_ That'd be the sensible thing to do. So why didn't I want to do it? I never hated my time spent there, but I suppose a part of me regretted it. Being back in the north for the first time in years reminded me what I'd left behind. Skyrim was Nord land, the birthplace of my ancestors. The people, the culture, the chill of the air – it all felt _right_, you know?

My aunt and uncle would've loved to hear me say that. They supported my decision to leave, but the day I parted was hard for all of us. We never really lost touch. I still got letters every now and then, sometimes years apart. I wrote back when I could. Dumb old me never thought to visit, though, not even once. I wish I had.

Orgnar slid a mug of ale to me from across the table. I heard creaking door hinges. A man stepped inside the inn, well-built and sturdy looking, with fair colored hair and a walking stick that clopped along the wood floor. He kept himself from stepping with a broken leg. There was a whimsical smile on his face.

"Hey Orgnar, how about a bottle of mead?" he said.

"Your sister's gonna be mad if she finds out you're here, Ralof," Orgnar replied.

"And if you want a generous tip, you won't say a word," he pretended to whisper. "Hurry it up, will you? Before she comes here looking for me!"

The man hobbled over and took a seat at the table beside me, resting his stick against the wall. His seemed a happy fellow. I liked him on the spot. If only I'd been of more cheer.

"A traveler!" the man said excitedly, getting a better view of my face. "And a glum one at that."

"Nice to meet you too," I sighed, forcing a smile.

The Nord leaned forward on the table, eyeing me thoughtfully.

"Hey, keep your chin up," he said. "No good for Nords to sulk in their drinks."

I took a swig of ale. "Any other day that'd be _my_ line."

Orgnar brought a mug to Ralof. The man fidgeted in his seat as he took a long gulp, wiping the froth from his mouth.

"You look strong. You into fighting?" he asked. "Mercenary work?"

"Bounty hunting. What gave it away? The armor or the sword?"

"The smell of blood, actually. You reek of it. Been busy?"

"House cleaning. So what does that make you?"

"Soldier, out of action."

"Could've figured that last part. Imperial?"

Ralof nearly spewed a mouthful of mead in his fit of laughter. "Oh that'll be the day! No friend, I'm a Stormcloak. And a damn proud one."

"Well met then," I said with a grin.

I didn't have much of an opinion on the Stormcloaks, though I respected their cause from afar. They seemed to have noble intentions. The civil war wasn't doing Skyrim any favors, though. Families divided, lives destroyed, brothers spilling blood…

You've heard of the war, right?

It all started like this: some decades ago the empire in Cyrodiil was attacked by the High Elves of the Aldmeri Dominion. It was the start of the Great War. Eventually the two sides declared a truce and signed a peace treaty called the 'White-Gold Concordat.' One of the demands of the treaty was for the empire to outlaw the worship of Talos, the ninth divine.

Well, this didn't sit with a lot of people, including my kin. The elves demanded blasphemy. We would never forsake the name of Talos.

Agents of the Dominion, called the _Thalmor_, started showing up in Skyrim, enforcing the treaty and arresting anyone who still tried to worship Talos. Eventually Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm, started stirring trouble. He formed a private army and spoke openly against the Thalmor and the White-Gold Concordat. But even this wasn't enough to get people's attention. So he traveled to Solitude, the capital of Skyrim, and challenged High King Torygg in honorable combat. A custom from the old days.

The king had supported the Imperial regime. Ulfric killed him and sent a strong message back to the empire. One they wouldn't ignore.

Some will tell you Ulfric waltzed in and murdered the man. More still say he killed the High King with his voice – _Shouted_ him apart. You can believe whatever you want to. I have… mixed feelings on the matter.

Torygg losing was a disgrace. A king should be able to defend himself as well as his kingdom. If he can't do either, he's not fit to rule. But Ulfric had to have known that Torygg couldn't beat him. They say the High King was coddled and young. You can't pick a fight with someone weaker than yourself and call it fair. Unless they throw the first swing, I only take on guys my size or bigger. No tallies for anything less.

Anyway, the emperor didn't take kindly to Torygg's death. Ulfric was declared a traitor to the empire and the civil war began. The Stormcloaks sought to crown Ulfric as High King and oust the Imperials from Skyrim for good.

You get all that? 'Cause I'm not repeating anything. Now where was I…?

"Mind sharing what's got you so depressed?" Ralof asked.

"Ysmir's beard, you're nosier than me," I replied.

"It's a fare evening for spirits, kinsman. That frown of yours ought to be a crime."

I sat still. It wouldn't hurt to tell the guy my story, would it? At least I'd get to drop some of the weight off my shoulders.

"Short version? I came to see my family and found them dead."

Ralof grew somber.

"Damn," he muttered. "Where were they? Hjaalmarch? Last I heard the fighting was heavy there."

"No. They were at Helgen," I said.

Ralof jerked upright. "Helgen? Your family was in Helgen?"

"Aye. I'm guessing by that look on your face you've heard about the dragon too. It's mad! Can you believe it?"

"I do more than believe it friend. I was there!"

I almost fell back out of my seat.

"_What_!?"

"I was in Helgen when the dragon attacked." Ralof pointed to his bad leg. "Got this as a souvenir."

"By Shor, you saw it then!? Tell me everything! Please!"

"Take it easy... I'll tell you, but it's a long story."

"Like my sorry hide is going anywhere!"

Ralof recounted his tale. He told of Ulfric's capture, the carriage ride to Helgen, the executions, and the dragon. I pictured the gruesome scene in my head as he boasted the monster's ruthless attack, how it sowed chaos with the power of its Voice. An entire company of legion soldiers couldn't even slow it down! Killing that dragon would be a feat worthy of song and legend.

"How did you escape?" I asked part way through Ralof's story. "You couldn't have made it out alone with that broken leg."

The man leaned back, setting down his empty mug on the table.

"I had my own personal savior," he said. "There was a man who stood by my side at every turn. I'd have never made it if not for him."

"Thank the Nine for that. Who was he?"

Ralof leaned forward, looking around to check for eavesdroppers.

"He, uh… asked me not to tell anyone about him being there," he spoke softly. "I've already said enough. You'll keep this to yourself, right? He saved my life. I want to respect his wishes."

"I'd have no to reason to tell anyone," I shrugged.

"Good. Glad to hear you–"

The door of the inn opened wide, interrupting our conversation. I noticed nightfall through the doorway. A woman with braided yellow hair stepped inside, scowling at Ralof.

"Enjoying your little chat?" she asked irately.

Ralof pushed his seat back a few inches with his good leg. "Now, now… Gerdur, let's just talk for a minute…"

"No. Don't explain anything," the woman chided. "You know you shouldn't be here. That leg is never going to heal if you keep on walking with it."

"That's what the stick is for!" Ralof said, holding it up for Gerdur to see. "Forget about that, though! This man here's from Helgen. He lost his family."

Gerdur held a hand to her mouth.

"Oh… Mara have mercy," she gasped. "I'm so sorry."

"He asked me to tell him about the attack. It's the least I could do, right?"

His sister sighed.

"Of course. I trust my idiot brother's told you everything?"

"Yeah," I said, looking at the man, "and I'm grateful for it. Doesn't make me feel much better, but at least I know what happened."

Ralof turned around in his seat.

"Orgnar, three more drinks! On me!" he called out with a cupped hand.

His sister groaned. "Brother…"

"Come now, the night's just beginning isn't it? We owe this to all our kinsman who fell to that dragon. Let's honor the memory of their deaths!"

Gerdur relented and took a seat with the both of us. As the bartender passed around another set of mugs, Ralof raised his up to toast. "To Helgen!"

I nodded and raised my drink to the Nords, to my Aunt and Uncle, who walked in Shor's halls.

"To Helgen."


	19. Arc 1 - Chapter 18

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 18 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E 201_

Skyrim's arctic winds are unimaginably frigid. Each gale slices at you like the cold steel of a dagger pressed against your skin.

The sun was slowly sequestering its warmth beneath the horizon. I drew a scarf over my mouth, trying to heat the air that entered my lungs. Ice and rock were my only company. Even packs of prowling snow wolves kept their distance, eyeing me as I hiked through the snow. Fissured glaciers spilled out toward the distant ocean, forming ravines and chasms across the tundra. The air was astonishingly clear. I could see for miles under a cloudless sky, the landscape tinted a mesmerizing mixture of blue, orange, and white.

In the nearby mountains loomed an enormous statue of a woman, robes coursing down to the ground like frozen water fall, holding a sun and moon in each hand. It was the shrine of Azura, Daedric Prince of dusk and dawn, carved out of the mountan's peak. I had heard of its splendor but to see it for myself was too magnificent for words.

The statue was built by my people, driven west after the Red Year when Vvardenfell's volcano erupted. In the wake of that terrible disaster, the shrine was erected as a reminder to the Dunmer to never lose faith in the true Tribunal or in ourselves.

But I must digress… To reflect on this leaves a bitter taste. It was shortly after the Red Year that the Argonian invasions began. We were knocked back to the ground as quickly as we tried to stand again. No amount of statue building could save us from that, could it?

I traveled across the glacial expanse to Mount Anthor. The cold remained my greatest adversary, though I was by no means without ample sources of warmth. Mage fire from my staff would prove more than sufficient to preserve body heat. Still, if a dragon lurked among the mountains, that was reason enough to curtail my staff's use. Flames would only call out my location. Discretion was key, as I intended to observe the creature from afar. If I could manage to find it.

Keenly aware of the dragon's danger, I possessed a number of spell scrolls for utility and to ensure my safety.

The first was a scroll of invisibility. Its function is self-explanatory. Though the duration of the spell would be relatively short, it would provide good certainty of escape. Assuming, of course, that dragons could not track footprints in the snow made by an invisible entity. For the sake of things I was prepared to assume otherwise, hence my second scroll – a summoning spell for a storm atronach. Though certainly powerful, I wagered the magical creature wouldn't last long against a dragon. It _could_ last long enough, however, to create a distraction. Combined with invisibility, the atronach would give me an ample opportunity to flee or hide.

If all else failed, I held one final trump. My third scroll was inscribed with a spell known as 'Recall.' I was pleasantly surprised to find it and its sister scroll collecting dust back at the College, although it cost me a terrible sum to obtain them. The Recall spell functions only alongside another called 'Mark.' Upon casting, Recall teleports the user to another location on Nirn, set prior by the Mark spell. It uses a plane of Oblivion as a bridge between the two points and, through clever gateweaving and a form of quasi-transpontine circumpenetration, allows near instantaneous travel over semi-long distances.

To discover these spells on runic parchment was astonishing. Intricate transliminal mechanics are as fascinating as they are a nightmare when considering their role in rune inscription. I know another form of this type of magic that allows transportation to _any_ location without the equivalent use of a Mark spell. However, like an Oblivion gate, it requires either a sigil stone or comparable agency substitute for hyperagonal media, in addition to physical travel through Oblivion itself – very dangerous and risky.

Oh, but I'm rambling aren't I? In any event I had already set the Mark spell to my quarters back at the college. With Recall I could return to safety at a moment's notice.

I watched the skies, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wyrm in flight. Meanwhile I pondered the nature of its survival. Was it necessary for the creature to hunt game? Surely a body as large as a dragon's would require ample nourishment for persistent endothermy. I assumed them to be endotherms, at least, though it was just as possible that dragons were ectotherms sustained by magical means. That would render them analogous to Argonians.

I was engrossed in my thoughts, pondering possibilities and speculation…

…Until a sudden breeze blew at my back.

The silver white dragon appeared behind me, gliding on the lift of its wings. It flew high above and bellowed a fearsome roar. I promptly reached for my bag, before realizing that the creature was ignoring me. It flew further out over the tundra before lowering its altitude to intercept a source of prey. I picked up my pace to a jog and followed the dragon's flight, wading through ankle-high snow.

Near a distant clutch of crags the dragon descended to a hover, keeping aloft in place as bee or hummingbird would. There was a sound like shouting, followed by the most surprising thing of all – _frost breath_. The dragon uttered a streaming exhale of ice as a means of attack. Absolutely remarkable! I knew only accounts of fire breath from my research. Nothing had even suggested this kind of variation! The witnessing of this event was my first true validation. This excursion was going to be worth the effort. I continued moving closer as the dragon swooped back into motion, flying circles around its point of attack.

A peculiar noise graced my ears. I made great effort to listen, till it struck me that the sounds were screams. Human screams. Cries of panic and terror.

My feet stopped dead in the snow. The dragon was attacking _people_. Who could they be? Nomads? Hunters? There was no way to know from so far away. The fervor of discovery had numbed me to any sense of danger. Now my knees felt weak. Instinct demanded that I flee, but my conscience spoke otherwise. I was conceivably the only person who could respond to these pleas for help… or, if nothing else, witness the final moments of those soon to die.

"Azura guide me," I whispered out of old habit, teeth chattering in the cold as I plodded one foot in front of the other.

The dragon's landing was heralded by a thud. Upon the ground it thrashed its head and tail, shouting blasts of ice, violently destroying what looked to be tents and encampments. Men wearing armored uniforms – soldiers, I assumed – were fighting for their lives, trying to overwhelm the wyrm with sheer numbers. Yet as they managed to mass a combined charge and came within striking range, the dragon cracked a beat of its mighty wings and returned to the sky, blowing back its attackers in a flurry of snow and wind.

By this point I was far too close for safety. I frantically rummaged for the invisibility scroll in my bag and unrolled it, drawing forth the essence of its enchantment to cast the spell within. There was a flash of light and color mixing like paint upon an artist's easel, before my frame became completely transparent.

Going as near as my legs would allow, I heard disjointed and terrified cries above the chaos.

"By Ysmir, nothing kills it!"

"The captain's dead! Who's in command!?"

"I can't get a bead on him!"

"How does it move so damn fast!?"

"It's coming around again!"

The dragon bombarded the camp as it circled through the sky, volleying condensed blizzard-like gales. A few straggled archers drew their bows, only to be struck down before they could shoot. The wyrm was adapting its ice breath to produce different forms of ranged attacks. Against such an adversary, the soldiers had lost over half of their company. No one was giving orders anymore. Broken into complete disarray, the handful that remained stopped trying to fight back and ran. It was every man for himself. The ones who stayed together were even more vulnerable to the dragon's cone of breath as it blasted across the camp in diving sweeps.

I observed the unfolding siege, my only solace coming from a grim fascination with the dragon's power. What was I to do? I gripped the wooden shaft of my destruction staff, hands numb. I was no stranger to waging battle with magic. There was a chance my fire could trump the dragon's frost, or at least drive back the beast. Those men were dying whilst I stood on the sideline, studying their defeat, taking mental notes. Surely I could have done _something_ to save them.

But I thought of every gruesome death I could suffer at the dragon's whim. I thought of my home in Blacklight. I thought of my husband.

I didn't want to die. I couldn't. Everything I was seeing – the dragon's tactics, the manner of its flight, the properties of its ice breath – I had to record it all and ensure its relay to others. I was witnessing the devastation this creature could wreak. Dragons had not been seen for millennia. Tamriel was as unprepared as it could ever be.

_How many more times will this scene repeat itself if no one lives to pass on any knowledge of the threat?_

This was the logic and reasoning my mind gave me not to act. Yet I could not stop wondering, even as the white dragon closed in on its final victim, if this thinking was merely my own cowardice. An excuse to save myself…

The last soldier still alive was stumbling over himself as he ran, before the dragon appeared in front of him. Glistening snow erupted through the air upon its touchdown. There was a moment of pause as the terrified man tried to regain his balance, weapon drawn.

Then came the greatest surprise of all. The dragon _spoke,_ in a language of its own.

"Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!"

With these final words the soldier was clenched between the powerful jaws of the great beast's mouth, killing him instantly. The dragon did not devour the man. It merely cast aside his remains and took flight again, retreating to what seemed to be its roosting place deep in the mountains.

What followed was the most deathly silence I'd ever heard, broken only by the wind.

I walked out into the camp. The invisibility spell had waned. Opacity returned to my form. Torn textile and splintered wood was all that remained of the soldier's tents. Red stains were flecked across the white ground, strewn with dead soldiers half-frozen. Ice crystals from the dragon's breath coated their bodies like a glaze. There was crunching beneath my boots as I stepped on a piece of cloth, knocked to the ground and covered in frost. I knelt down and brushed off its surface. It was a flag baring the Imperial symbol. My body shivered against a frigid squall.

_What were these soldiers doing out here? What was their mission? _

And why had the dragon attacked them? They weren't a threat to it – the opposite had been established most gruesomely. There was some ulterior motive at play, an agenda I could only speculate.

Looking around for anything resembling papers or documents, I checked the bodies of soldiers in higher ranking attire. Knots twisted in my chest as I searched their remains for clues. I tried not to dwell on what I was doing. It became harder to bear with each search. I had only watched those men die moments ago.

One of the bodies coughed as I knelt beside it. I startled and almost fell on my rump. The Nord was alive. Barely. His mouth moved but no words came forth. Blood was running from a split that ran down his abdomen. He was wrapped in a coat of thin ice, as though the snow itself were swallowing him whole. My mind raced, trying to think of a way to save to the man. I had healing potions to speed the recovery process, but they would not stave hypothermia. The man needed a healer. Raising my staff, I quickly conjured a wall of flames safely around the soldier to warm him.

"Hold on. I need only a moment to prepare," I consoled as bravely as I could. "You'll be someplace safe very soon, I promise!"

I pulled the scroll of Recall from my bag. The soldier was in no condition to use it, but if I could manipulate the spell to target him instead of me it would send him straight to the College. The mages there could help him better than I. Laying down the scroll, my arms channeled its magicka. Violet light swirled in my palms as I held them over the soldier.

There was no movement in his eyes. I pulled back the spell, hesitantly, and checked his pulse. My heart sank. He had passed.

Standing up, I felt a flood of remorse as I raised my staff and swayed it over the circle of fire, dissipating its flames. The sun was gone and stars glimmered in twilight. It had become too dark to comb the area further. I took in the solemn sight of the camp one last time before readying Recall.

I had everything I needed and came for. There was nothing left to do. I cast the spell.

The sky shattered around me, into Oblivion.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_In the Greg Keyes novels, a mage known as Sul is able to travel quickly between long distances across Tamriel by using a plane of Oblivion as a bridge, physically traveling across it. Once in Oblivion, he had to reach a portal somewhere at another end to return to Nirn. This seemed like an appropriate concept to apply to the Mark and Recall spells, so I opted to put my own twist on it._

_Mark and Recall in my fiction works just like the magic that allowed Sul to travel through Oblivion. Because the destination is set prior to teleportation with Mark, it could feasibly be that the end portal gets placed in Oblivion strategically in advance, to be close enough to the point of entry that long travel through an Oblivion plane is not required. It becomes a simple step-in, step-out process – hence the instantaneous nature of Mark and Recall._

_Many phrases like "gateweaving" and "runic parchment" that Falura uses were made up to help her sound more convincing in her knowledge (though other bits were taken directly from an in-game lore book called Liminal Bridges)._


	20. Arc 1 - Chapter 19

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 19 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

I woke abruptly from a dreamless sleep, grasping for Xehtasken. It appeared I was alone. My sense of time was lost. How long had I slept?

I shrugged aside the question as my stomach growled. I was safe and soundly whole, if a bit hungry. No traces of pain lingered where the draugr's arrow had wounded me. There was merely tightness in my abdominal muscles. The cavern's gloom remained pervasive as ever, cramped and foul smelling. I lingered in the dark before reaching for my armor.

"Xho huuqlop… lazy tail," I grumbled to myself as I stood and redressed. "You're not done yet. You still have an assignment to complete…"

Fastening one last buckle across the waist, I hoisted my knapsack and re-sheathed my weapons. There was no more time for tarrying. The Dragonstone had to be close.

Pressing forward through the cave, I could see clear enough without a torch. Light was breaking further beyond. Daylight. The passage grew wider, expanding as I came upon a massive inner chamber. A flurry of winged creatures flew past me, too small to be bats but too large for moths. I could not distinguish them. My boots splashed in shallow puddles upon the floor. The cave's air became moist, filling with sounds of torrential water.

I stepped into the expanse of the chamber. The sights took me aback.

Tall waterfalls roared and echoed throughout the hollow's breadth, crashing into streams of runoff that flowed like brooks. A large slit in the cave's ceiling shined sunlight down upon a wall carved in stone. It stood atop a terrace, with stairwells and pathways winding toward it. There were plants growing where water was abundant. I ambled over to the streams and knelt down to drink. The water's taste was rich in minerals.

Never would I have suspected such a wonder could exist beneath the mountains of Skyrim. It almost made the perils of the barrow worth braving. Almost.

As I ascended stairs that lead to the terrace, I marveled at the make of the strange wall that stood at its peak. I call it a 'wall' because I am not sure what else to call it. Standing twice my height and curved inward, it appeared to be some sort of monument. Its surface was covered in more of the same swirling patterns I'd seen all through the barrow. Contrasting the wall's grey, a black stone carving adorned its crown. It appeared to my eyes as a dragon's head.

Beneath this carving was a smooth face that ran along the wall. Crude etchings were carved into it. They appeared to have sequence and structure – I wagered the carvings depicted a statement, in no language I recognized.

A black stone sarcophagus lay nearby. Was the wall a memorial? An epitaph? I sighed. There were no signs of the Dragonstone. The sarcophagus was the last place to search and I had no desire to search it. My dislike of entombed dead and the human practice as a whole had only grown in my time spent among the catacombs. Nevertheless, I kept my weapon ready as I approached, expecting another draugr to emerge at any moment.

Then the most bizarre thing happened.

I felt an unfamiliar sensation. A sound, but not quite a sound. Something different, with rhythm, as though alive. It was coming from the wall.

Turning to face the source of this strange new sense, I walked closer. The rhythm became stronger, rising in intensity. The etchings on the wall – a word – seemed to beckon me. There was no unease or fear. It felt as water to the scales of a hatchling. Intrinsic. Natural. The word on the wall began to glow and resonate. My vision blurred, then darkened, leaving only the word's light as it imprinted upon my mind's eye. I could _feel_ it within me, like a sixth perception of its own kind. It was at once visual, auditory, syntactic, phonetic…

The word was 'Fus,' and it meant nothing.

Forgive me if I sound cryptic, but even now I struggle to describe the experience. I could feel the word and even speak it aloud, but it was void of denotation. It existed like an empty husk. As my vision returned I stood stone still, trying to grasp the nature of this discovery. It left me baffled, bewildered, yet placid all the same.

The feeling did not last. There was a crashing thud. The lid of the sarcophagus had been lifted off. From the recess of the coffin immerged another draugr, armed with sword and shield. Its face was well defined, a look of hatred in its glowing eyes. I spun back and snarled as I freed Xehtasken to fight.

Flexing calcified muscles, the draugr's jaw stretched open after drawing a sharp inhale.

"FUS…"

A chill ran down my spine. _It speaks the same word– _

"…ROH DAH!"

Sounding like a clap of thunder, a ring of sheer magic hurled from the draugr's mouth with startling speed. It slammed into me with the force of a cannon ball, tossing me back as though I were a feather to the wind. Xehtasken nearly slipped free from my grasp as I slammed against the wall and fell to the ground.

"What the Iyorth…!?" I wheezed as I hurried to recover.

I jumped away from the wall to get free before my opponent could corner me. The draugr raised its sword to swing. I readied Xehtasken to parry the blow, banking on my reaction speed. Yet a sword raised is not a sword swung. I had been reckless. The draugr instead bashed me at face height with its shield, trying to blind me as its blade swept down to my legs. I dodged scantly. There was a numbing pain beneath my knees. Shallow cuts on my legs were speckled with ice. Only then did I see that the corpse's weapon was enchanted with frost magic.

An able foe, this one. But I had no intent to lose. It was time to gain control of the fight.

We circled about each other, eyes locked, neither committing to a move. Blood seeped from my nostrils. The draugr finally struck, winding back from its left to cleave horizontally. I blocked edge against flat and, just as my foe recovered its defensive stance, kicked its shield dead center, sending the corpse staggering backwards. With my off hand I grasped the handle of my crossbow, drew it to aim, and fired.

The bolt punched clear into the draugr's neck, shattering its vertebra. My foe was paralyzed. With a roaring charge I came forth and plunged Xehtasken down across its shield arm, cleanly severing it. A quick repositioning, a plunge through its chest, and the draugr was no more. The light in its eyes faded away. I pulled free my weapon and stood over the fallen undead warrior in triumph.

My stomach growled. I growled with it.

_I have had enough of this barrow…_

After healing my wounds, I retrieved the draugr's sword. Its dark steel was worn, rusted and heavy, covered in white runes that glowed faintly. The charge of its enchantment had been spent considerably. Soul gems or a varla stone would be needed to recharge it. Either way the weapon was unwieldy, far inferior to Xehtasken in craftsmanship. I chose not to take it with me.

There was only one thing left to do. I walked over to the empty tomb and peered inside. Lying at the bottom of the cold stone niche was a slab of rock. Markings were engraved on its surface, forming a cartographic outline of Skyrim's borders. Symbols on the map dotted various locations. Dragon burial sites, I assumed. A wide grin rose my face.

The Dragonstone at last!

I looked back at the fallen draugr. Had this entire place been built to guard the stone… or the wall? What magic sustained these corpse warriors? There were many things I still did not understand. I hoisted the Dragonstone and stuffed it into my knapsack. Its weight was burdensome, but I did not mind it.

I took in a lungful of air and carried on with renewed determination.

To Dragonsreach once more…

~ooooo~

The main chamber of Bleak Falls Barrow exited near the base of the mountains, facing south. Though I longed to swim along White River to reach the north-east, I knew I was too encumbered. I decided instead to alter my return course, traversing through Brittleshin Pass and out across the flat plains of Whiterun hold.

The silhouette of the Jarl's palace became my guide and compass as I journeyed beneath clear skies, well into evening time. Thistle plants and tundra cotton brushed against my legs. I came upon many exotic sights, the most unusual of all being giants, creatures baring the guises of men. They towered several feet above the tallest Nord, wearing crude garments of fur and brandishing clubs, appearing more or less barbaric. Across the open plains they drove herds of mammoths, enormous creatures of brown wool with ivory tusks. Their size rivaled even the mighty swamp leviathans of Black Marsh.

Skyrim was still alien to my eyes, full of so many strange curiosities and forms of life.

As I minded the outrageously heavy rock I carried, a thought began to gnaw at me. I had the Dragonstone in possession. Was I forgetting something else? I rechecked my gear. Weapons, potions, supplies, all were accounted for. Then I remembered.

_The golden claw!_

In my haste to escape the draugr back in the barrow, I had left it on the other side of the puzzle door…

Such a careless mistake seemed beneath me. Arvel and his companions had stolen the claw from someone. They would certainly never get it back now. Still, perhaps it was for the best. Safer that the claw be sealed away than left in the hands of another. Who knows how many more would seek out the barrow in search of fortune, only to meet the terror of its undead denizens. I shuddered to think what would happen to anyone who entered those catacombs unprepared.

Eventually I arrived at Whiterun's gates. The city was bustling with activity, slowed only slightly by the sunset. Merchants selling farm grown wares were pushing their produce, trying to sell all that they could before their stores would spoil. A priest of Talos was preaching in the streets. He seemed quite passionate. Others sat beneath the light shade of the Gildergreen, talking and gossiping among one another. I skirted past crowds and ascended to the Jarl's palace, eager to deliver the Dragonstone and be on my way.

Farengar was in his laboratory, absorbed in some new task, taking notes near a set of alembics and foaming beakers. I cleared my throat. The court wizard turned his attention to my presence, a pleased yet surprised look on his face.

"Ah! It's you! The Jarl's protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

_Such faith…_

"Yes, to speak nothing of what I went through," I muttered, feeling deflated. "I sincerely hope this Dragonstone proves useful." I hefted the slab of rock from my bag and set it gently on the table. Farengar eyed the Dragonstone with curious interest.

"Oh, have no fear – I'm certain it will," the man replied, regarding me with gratitude. "You are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl foists on me."

_You know not the half of it, mage. Your Jarl recruited a dangerous fugitive._

"All things considered I imagine so," I said. "What happens now?"

"This is where your work ends and mine begins. The work of the mind. I will decipher the stone and discover what knowledge it contains. My associate will be expecting a full report when she returns."

"Associate? Do you not work alone?"

Farengar smiled. "No. Many others share a fascination with the dragons as I do. Even the Jarl himself has finally taken an interest. It is good to be able to devote most of my time to this research."

"I see… At least you have enthusiasm," I said, eyeing his work desk.

The room settled into a long uncomfortable silence. Farengar returned to his alchemy. It was clear he did not wish for conversation, but I was not yet finished. He glanced at me.

"Hm? Oh, you're still here?" the wizard said. "I have nothing for you. See the Jarl or his steward. I'm sure one of them will pay you appropriately for the Dragonstone."

"Actually, this one has a question."

"Ah, I should have figured… Go ahead."

I tried to think how best to frame the context of my query.

"I discovered something back at Bleak Falls Barrow. I am unsure if it is related to the Dragonstone, but… there was a wall…"

I retracted my words at the sound of commotion. Footsteps on wood, commands from soldiers, readying of weapons.

"Yes? And? What about this wall?" Farengar prodded.

"Wait. What's happening?" I growled softly, peering out into the palace's grand hall.

A woman was running toward us, calling out Farengar's name. It was the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth. A dazed looking man accompanied her wearing the uniform of the city's guard, chain mesh with yellow cloth. They stopped at the doorway to the wizard's study.

"Farengar! You need to come at once!" Irileth exclaimed. "A dragon's been spotted nearby."

"What?" I whispered.

The mage's face beamed with delight. "A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

"It was sighted from the west. I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you," Irileth replied, glaring at the Nord. "If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it."

The mage wasting no time abandoning his work. The group made their way toward the stairs leading to the upper floor of the palace. The Dark Rlf woman turned back to me.

"You should come too. Quickly!" she called out, motioning that I follow. I did not defy the request, rushing to catch up with her. A sinking fear was churning inside me. Were the events of Helgen to be repeated?

_If that black dragon strikes again, these people stand no chance…_

At the peak of the stairs the palace's wood swapped for stone, adorned with yellow banners and carpets. A back door led to the grand porch of Dragonsreach. Fire pits and a chandelier casted light upon dark walls. I saw the Jarl accompanied by a clutch of his men and advisors. They were gathered around a small war table, arguing with one another. Balgruuf slammed his hands on the tabletop.

"I don't care if it comes here or not!" he boomed. "I want water in every bucket this city has! Now!"

A soldier saluted and ran past us as we approached the gathering. The Jarl's anger settled somewhat at the sight of his housecarl. She dragged forward the guardsman following her.

"Irileth… Who's this you've brought me?" Balgruuf asked.

"This man was at the western watchtower when the dragon flew over," the woman replied, turning to the gaunt man in uniform. "Tell him what you told me."

"Uh… that's right," the man stammered, addressing his liege. "We saw it coming from the south. It was fast… faster than anything I've ever seen!"

"Did you see it clearly?" I interrupted. "What did it look like?"

The man looked at Balgruuf, seeking permission to speak.

"Answer him," the Jarl commanded.

"The dragon was big… really big… with huge wings and–"

"Its scales!" I snapped. "What color were its scales!?"

"Oh… they were grey, I think, or brown."

Grey brown. This was not the dragon that destroyed Helgen. This was something else.

"What did it do?" the Jarl asked. "Is it attacking the watchtower?"

"No my lord. It was just circling overhead when I left," the guardsman said. "I've never ran so fast in my life… I thought it would come after me for sure."

Balgruuf stepped forward to rest his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Good work, son. We'll take it from here. Get down to the barracks for some food and rest. You've earned it."

Dismissed, the guard made his way for the stairwell. Balgruuf looked gloweringly at his housecarl.

"Irileth, you'd better gather some guardsmen and get down there," he said.

"I've already ordered my men to muster near the gates," Irileth replied.

"Good. Don't fail me."

The Dunmer went off to her assignment. Farengar stepped forward to speak.

"I should come along," he suggested. "I would very much like to see this dragon."

"No," the Jarl responded flatly. "I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these dragons."

Farengar was quite disappointed, ready to argue his case, but he submitted to Balgruuf's command. The mage left quietly. Only the Jarl and his men remained. They looked to me.

"You've returned," the Jarl said. "Did you succeed in your task?"

"Yes," I replied sternly. "I found the Dragonstone as your mage requested. But now is hardly the time to stand on ceremony."

"Right you are, my friend. I need your help again. I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You've survived one already. You're the closest thing to an expert we have."

Somehow I knew he would ask such a thing. I let out a grim sigh. This would likely end in my death, but I could not abandon these people now.

"Of course," I hissed calmly, erecting the spine of submission. "I don't know what difference my presence will make, but I will do all that I can."

"Then hurry. There's no time to lose–"

The room suddenly shook. Loose rubble fell from the ceiling. Everyone at the gathering braced themselves, drawing weapons. Then came an all too familiar sound. A dissonant metallic roar, barely audible from within the walls.

"Talos save us, it's here!" one of the men cried out. The dragon had perched atop Dragonsreach itself. A loud, trumpeting horn resounded outside.

"Go! Defend the city!" the Jarl ordered his men. He looked to me. "Argonian–"

"I'll join the defense!" I called back, breaking for the stairs. "Stay here! You'll be safest!"

I ran back down to the entrance. Soldiers were hastening to the fight, some gathering at defensive positions along stairways, ready to protect the Jarl and his palace with their lives. A small group of guards rushed through the main doors. I watched the dragon fly by behind the latticed windows of the great hall, wind whipping in its wake. With a swipe of its tail, the wyrm smashed the bridge that crossed the Cloud District's water basin, tearing it apart. I passed over once more, uttered forth fire and igniting the sundered remains. The way out was cut off.

Fire burned through the entryway with brilliance to match the red-orange sky. I came to a halt. Soldiers and cleaning maids alike were scrambling to find water to douse the flames. Dread coursed through me at the sound of the dragon's shouting, bellowing down upon the city of Whiterun. The bustling sounds of its townsfolk had become a panicked discord of screams and terror.

My worst fears were being realized. It was all happening again…


	21. Arc 1 - Chapter 20

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 20 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

"Move!" I shouted. "Mind the way!"

Pushing through the crowded hallways of Whiterun's guard quarters, I hurried to reach the outside. With the main doors of Dragonsreach blocked, I took an underground passage through the barracks and palace dungeon. Precious seconds were wasted.

I burst out from the dark, cold stone of the keep and dashed into the courtyard. Shafts of smoke rose up from burning buildings in the districts below. The dragon, soaring hither and yon through the air, rained its fire upon the city of Whiterun. I stood overlooking the scene in horror.

_Xhuth! How can a beast like this be stopped!? _

There had to be some way to combat the threat. Arrows flew uselessly through the air, striking no more than the dragon's tail wind. It was too fast, too great. What could be done? What could I do?

I barked in my mind's ear.

_Time to think is time to act! People are dying!_

I postponed debating the finer points of my tactics and set off to join the fray, descending to the Wind District by way of stairs beyond the broken bridge. In doing so, I became a target for the dragon. It set its sights on me from further out and made a banking turn to intercept, readying its fire. The monster's shout rang clear.

"YOL…"

There was a pool some feet below to my left, filled by a steady stream that flowed from the upper district. I jumped in.

"…TOOR SHUL!"

The basin was shallow. I landed and plunged beneath, pressing my stomach against the stone floor. Flames refracted atop a churn of rolling water. As I watched the wyrm fly off, I was struck by the likeness between its fiery shout and the magic of the draugr in Bleak Falls. Both were conjured with three words spoken in succession. Even the dragon at Helgen had done this. I drew in a deep gillful and surfaced from the water. It sloshed over my armor as cries and shouts of the city's people burst into earshot.

I climbed out and tossed my knapsack aside. Heavy and sopping wet, the bag would only slow me down. All that I needed remained on my person.

Whiterun's plaza was in chaos. Beneath the branches of a burning Gildergreen, people were herded into buildings by guardsmen covering their escape with bows. Some of the soldiers stayed together, using their shields as a defense against the dragon's breath. Others took shelter in open doorways, stepping out to volley their arrows. The dragon flew unhindered by all opposition. It kept a safe distance as it circled about, making swift strokes across the city with fire and lashing at buildings with its tail.

Not once did the wyrm stop to land. It maintained its speed and momentum, using long straight glides to ease the strain on its wings. The advantage of this was obvious – the beast was harder to hit while moving – but surely it needed to land at some point. Even the black dragon at Helgen had on several occasions.

"Make every arrow count! We'll bring that bastard down!"

A Dunmer's voice called out from nearby. It was Irileth. She and a group of men were fighting to repel the dragon's next advance. Failing to slow it down, they dashed into cover behind nearby buildings, dodging a blast of fire.

I ran to them. The housecarl focused a bolt of lightning in her hand and shot it at the dragon. The attack left scorch marks upon its hide like ink spots. The black dragon at Helgen had been unfazed by similar magic. But_ this_ dragon was not so resilient.

It was weaker.

Irileth caught sight of me as I came beside her, kneeling against a small wood lodge.

"You've finally joined us," she remarked.

"Had I a choice in the matter?" I retorted, eyes bent skyward. A bay of hale in a nearby pen was ablaze, along with burning carcasses of cattle. The heat was making my scales dry.

"Damn this overgrown lizard," Irileth swore, speaking above the sounds of battle. "It's going to have the entire city in flames before we can so much as bruise it!"

"There must be something we can do," I said as I loaded ammunition into my crossbow. "Even if it can't be–"

One of the guards interrupted me.

"Hey! Something's happening! The dragon is leaving!"

Everyone looked to the eastern sky. Instead of coming around for another attack, the dragon flew miles away into the distance, descending below view of the city's walls. It showed no sign of great injury.

"Oh, Thtal," I growled. "It's resting from its flight!"

"Are you certain?" Irileth questioned.

"I see no reason it won't return."

"What now? Do we go after it?" a voice asked nearby.

"There'd be no point," I replied angrily. "It can take to the air again before anyone gets close!" We would be too slow, even on horseback.

"The bastard's trying to outlast us, wearing down our forces," Irileth muttered, turning to direct her men. "Use the time we have! Spread out and search for stragglers! Tend to the wounded if you have to."

As the guards began to scatter, Irileth turned to me.

"I'm staying with my men. Get to Jorrvaskr and find out if the Companions have a plan! We need this dragon dead!"

"Wait, find _who_?" I stammered.

"Get to the mead hall on the other side of the district," she exclaimed, pointing behind me. "It's not far, but hurry!"

Before I could speak further, the housecarl fled to join her charges. Who were these Companions she spoke of? Why would they have a plan?

Annoyed at my ignorance, I made for Jorrvaskr as swiftly as my legs could carry me, splashing through aqueducts that ran along the ground. The mead hall was in view. Its wooden rooftop resembled that of an overturned longboat. Decorative shields adorned its perimeter.

A sudden cry for help echoed above the city's tumult. It came from the Plains District. Stopping in my tracks, I bent to hear the sound, cursing under my breath. The Companions could wait. I ran to the cry's aid.

Whiterun's streets were nearly barren. A brave few attempted to douse the fires that ravaged their homes. Guardsmen were regrouping. An eerie stillness had descended in the dragon's absence, like the eye of a storm, filled by scattered shouts, splashes of water, and the crackle of burning buildings. I arrived in the marketplace and saw a guard struggling to lift a pile of broken wood. A storefront's awning had collapsed, trapping two people beneath.

"Hey, you there!" the guard called out, waving me over. "Give me a hand with this!"

I rushed over to the scene. There were several downed support beams atop debris. Blood was running through cracks in the stone beneath. With the bulk of the pile too heavy to lift at once, the guard and I began hoisting off pieces one by one.

A roar came from the sky. I spun around. The dragon was in the air directly above. It locked its sights on us, a target too easy to pass.

"Get down!" I shouted, pushing back the guard with one hand while casting a ward in the other. I braced myself, thinking the magic would not hold.

"YOL… TOOR SHUL!"

And yet it did.

The wyrm's gout of fire was absorbed in full. Flames flickered and died upon the ground around us, leaving an ellipse unsinged the size of my ward. The dragon was weaker in both resilience _and_ power! It was nothing compared to the one that destroyed Helgen. But that fact in itself did not make the monster less of a threat. I returned to the task at hand.

"We're out of time!" I exclaimed, straining to lift up the pile of rubble. "If we don't… move this now…!"

"You should step back," an unfamiliar voice spoke behind me. It was deep and husky.

I jolted in surprise as the rubble lifted out of my hands. A brutish Nord was hefting the entire wood pile by himself. He wore an impressive suit of heavy steel armor, high pauldrons, with a two-handed sword and longbow on his back. The man's face was grimed with war paint across his eyes, black to match a shaven beard and long messy hair.

The guardsman and I pulled the two entrapped to safety – a man and a woman, the later unconscious with a terrible head wound. We took refuge in a nearby general goods store. Trinkets and bobbles were set upon tables and shelves throughout the room, some knocked over or shattered. The large warrior followed behind, staying to watch the doorway.

"She's not gonna last long," he said, motioning toward the injured woman as I laid her on a carpet.

"She will be fine. Her head trauma is serious, but I think I can heal it," I hissed, turning to the two other men. "When I'm finished, seek better shelter if you can! A cellar or basement will work best – anyplace underground!"

I began to work my healing spell, light washing over the woman's bloodied wound. The Nord warrior regarded me warily. I glanced at him and gave a grateful smile.

"These people could have died," I said, still focused intently on my casting. "Your timing here was most helpful."

"Won't matter if we don't kill this dragon," he replied flatly. The man had an odd calmness about him.

"I know," I spoke quietly. "This is getting worse by the minute…"

More sounds of battle erupted outside. Hope was becoming a fleeting thing. We could whittle down the dragon enough to drive it away eventually, but I refused to think there was no alternative. The dragon's flight was its greatest, if not _sole_ advantage. In the air, we could do no more than scratch here, nip there. But aground it would not be nearly as swift. I believe it knew this, only ever stopping to touch down miles beyond reach.

We needed to force it to land on our terms.

"There. She is stable," I sighed, finishing my clinical work. The other men helped carry the woman to the back of the store while the brutish Nord perked up, peering out of the doorway.

"Can't stay any longer. My brother's calling me," he said. "I've got to go."

I was surprised he could make out anything clearly from outside. Impressive hearing for a Nord.

"I'll accompany you. Dragon fire is less threatening if you have a ward for protection," I replied, leaning on the opposite side of the doorway. "Who is your brother? Where will we find him?"

"Vilkas. He's up at Jorrvaskr."

"Jorrvaskr?" I startled. "Wait, does that mean you're…?"

"A Companion," the man finished. "Yeah. New around here, aren't you?"

"I was told you would have a plan to stop the dragon."

The Nord shook his head.

"Not me. But if anyone does by now, it's Vilkas."

That was an acceptable answer.

"Then we go to him. Lead on."

The two of us made a dash for the stairwell to the Wind District, stopping at its peak to hide beneath a brick archway. The wyrm appeared as a silhouette against the setting sun, straightening into a glide toward the city to strike yet again. A group of archers were marshalled out near the western side of the Wind District, set in formation. The commander of Whiterun's guard stood by and signaled to the men.

"Ready position! Draw!" he commanded.

The bowmen were trying to stop the dragon from flying over, or at least wound it on entry. As the Nord warrior and I ran toward Jorrvaskr, I watched in fear for them.

"Aim!"

The dragon was not slowing down. It would be directly in front of the guards' line of fire. What was it going to do…?

"Release!"

A cluster of arrows soared through the air. They were right on target. But the dragon was one step ahead. It lifted itself higher with a powerful beat of its wings. The gust that followed blew back the missiles from their trajectory. In one swoop the archers had been bested. The wyrm let loose its fiery shout as it flew over the soldiers – this time condensed into single breath that exploded on impact. Only a handful jumped clear in time.

"Brit grah, bahlaan hokoron!" the dragon spoke in its foreign tongue, swerving away.

No sooner was its boast cut short, however, when a lone arrow struck the monster square in its neck. It recoiled from the sting, letting out a rancorous roar. I followed the dragon's eyes. A woman, standing upon the steps that rose to Jorrvaskr, was drawing her bow for another volley. She wore a set of fur and leather armor fitted with sparse iron plating, and a head of long red hair. Her face too was streaked with war paint. I took her for a Companion. The woman's aim and posture were well composed. She had the make of a mastered archer.

"Farkas. You're late," she said upon glimpsing the Nord warrior and I. "Don't tell me you had trouble getting here."

"Got busy, Aela. More people needed help," Farkas replied.

The woman lowered her bow and arrow. Her mark had flown out of range to land again.

"You can help these whelps by fighting the dragon, not playing hero."

The three of us went behind a stone wall that encircled the mead hall's grounds.

"Farkas! Shor's bones, there you are!" someone called out nearby. It was a man with short dark hair, adorning a set of armor plated with grey steel. The detail work upon its surface was impressive, designs bearing the likeness of wolves. At once I noticed a familial resemblance between him and Farkas, though this one was not as stout. He carried an identical set of armaments.

"Where did you run off to?" Vilkas asked.

"People were in need of aid," I spoke up. "Your brother lent his strength at a crucial moment."

The Nord in wolf armor eyed me quizzically. "An Argonian? What do you think you're doing here?"

"My thoughts exactly… Who are you?" Aela asked, looking to me.

"This one is of no importance," I asserted. "I was asked by the Jarl's housecarl to find you all. Is there a plan in motion to bring this dragon down?"

Vilkas and Aela glanced at one another.

"The plan is to stay alive," Vilkas said. "We have to hold our defense and send the beast back to wherever it came from."

I gaped at the man.

"_What_? Is that all!?" I exclaimed. "Are we simply biding our time!?"

Vilkas hardened at my distraught.

"Unless you want to construct a catapult, there's little we can use to fight the dragon while it's flying. Arrows are the best offensive we have."

"We've wounded the beast by now," Aela added. "It knows its cowardly tactics can't last. It's just a matter of time. The dragon will flee to survive once it's had more than it can handle. Then we hunt it to its resting place and slay it there."

"That's not enough!" I snapped. "What happens if the dragon strikes again while you're out searching for it? Will this city have the strength to stand another attack?"

"Whiterun is not as weak as you think, and neither are we," Vilkas retorted. "What would _you_ have us do, outsider?"

"I do not know," I muttered, hanging a troubled glare. "We have to force the dragon to land, perhaps cripple it…"

Vilkas scowled at me.

"We're already trying to do that! What do you think this is!?" he barked, waving his arm out toward the city that had become a battlefield. "Every man and woman here is fighting to survive! If we cannot kill the beast, then we must have the tenacity to drive it off! It's the only way!"

"No! It will only return again if it leaves! This has to end _here_!" I implored. "If we could just get in range with our swords somehow, as though to meet the dragon…"

I paused. My own words were a revelation.

"…in flight…"

An idea was hatched at that moment. A mad gamble, the likes of which any sane man would call foolhardy.

"Argonian?" Vilkas stared at me. I was motionless, thinking intensely.

The dragon's roar resounded again. Time was of the essence. We could not allow it to escape. I turned to the burly Nord beside me.

"Farkas, was it? I need a blade with better reach! Can you lend me yours?"

The man appeared still wary of me. I had not thought through my request. It must have seemed audacious. Despite this, he spoke.

"Somethin' wrong with the one you have?"

"Margin for error," I replied. "Please! I think I have a way to bring down this dragon!"

"You promise to give it back?"

"On my word, I will."

Farkas' brother admired him disbelievingly as he presented his greatsword to me. The make of the blade closely resembled Xehtasken in craftsmanship.

"Thank you," I said with a smile, making a start for the mead hall. "Hold that thought. Hand the sword up to me once I'm on the roof!"

"Farkas, you're not really…?" Vilkas hurried over to me. "Just what are you doing, Argonian?"

"This chance cannot be wasted! I will only get one attempt to catch it by surprise," I exclaimed as I climbed up a wood beam to the lip of the mead hall's roof. "Do whatever you can to draw the dragon's attention here!"

"For what? Do you mean to strike the dragon from the rooftop? That's a fool's ploy!"

"No," I replied, grasping Farkas' sword as he lifted it to me, "I will not strike it from the roof. I will strike it from _above_."

Before Vilkas could object, Aela placed a hand on his shoulder and pulled him back.

"Let him have his way. If he gets himself killed it won't be our problem," she spoke bluntly. "Besides, I think I'd like to see what he's planning."

Planks of wood were broken or missing upon the curved ceiling of Jorrvaskr. I used them as gripping points to scale the slope and positioned myself at the top as securely as I could. Orange sunlight glared in my eyes from far mountain peaks. The city of Whiterun was ablaze in fire and cloaked in smolder. The wyrm was flying in search of prey.

I clenched the hilt of Farkas' sword.

_This truly is a fool's ploy…_

"Down here, dragon!" I hollered, beckoning the winged beast to me. "You've yet to kill this one! Do you not have the strength? What's stopping you!?"

Swift to respond, the wyrm fired off a blast of flame from afar. My ward met in response. Blinding fire crashed against the mead hall, charring its lumber. I was unharmed. Hot embers danced about me.

_Will it even dare to come near?_

"Is this all you have!?" I goaded again, raising my voice to a roar. "Why do you hold back!? Face me! See how you fare against a worthy foe!"

The dragon coasted into a bank around to my back. It began to laugh. I almost thought my hearing was mistaken.

"Krif krin. Pruzah!" it declared with mirth in its menacing voice. "I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

As it rushed toward me on lifting winds, I snarled, heart racing. The dragon was answering my taunt as an act of pride. It flew dead straight, to knock me off of the rooftop. Neither of us was going to yield. The moment was at hand.

I reached for a vial on my belt, fourth to the left.

"YOL…"

Pushing out its stopper, I swallowed the final contents of the glass and threw it away, bringing both hands to grip Farkas' sword

_Steady… Give it no room to dodge…_

"…TOOR SHUL!"

The dragon's breath was like a signal fire. Pushing off with my legs, the potion's effect took hold. I shot up into the air with a roar, blade pulled back as the dragon flew beneath me.

_Now!_

The greatsword swung, a flashing crescent in the sky. I could feel its edge knick bone, ripping clean across the membrane of the dragon's wing.

Suddenly losing lift, the beast bellowed in surprise, colliding past the tall peak of a building as it fought to stay in the air. I slammed onto the steep slope of a canopy behind Jorrvaskr, landing in a violent tumble. My claws grated against the wood in a frantic strain to slow my descent. I dropped off, barely catching myself by one arm. Farkas' sword clattered to the ground a mere foot beneath me.

There was a heavy pound in the distance, the sound of something enormous impacting on land. Cries of victory rose from the city.

Had I succeeded? Was it over?

I scuttled over to the boat-like slope of the mead hall and climbed back up to the rooftop. Peering beyond the walls of Whiterun out upon the plains, I saw a massive plow of dirt leading toward the western watchtower. At its end laid the dragon. It had tried to hover away on its injured wing as far as it could. Slowly the monster began to stand, moving on hind legs and the folds of its forelimbs. I swore. The three Companions arrived to find me as I climbed back down and retrieved Farkas' sword.

"Here… take it," I panted, holding out the weapon as I shambled over to its owner. "I keep my word."

Farkas retook his possession.

"Glad it helped," he said with what looked like a smile.

"By Ysgramor, how did you do that?" Vilkas exclaimed.

I leaned forward on my knees, trying to regain my wind.

"Complements of an old Dunmer I met many months back," I huffed. "An alchemist. Never thought I'd use his concoction for something like this… It's proved its worth twice over."

"So it has," Vilkas hooted. "This battle's been won because of it!"

"I wouldn't say that," Aela said, peering down at me. "The potion gave him flight, but his sword arm swung that blade. There's something more to this one than we can see. I'd call it the makings of greatness."

I thought to object to the woman's statement, but I supposed that no one had ever really accomplished a feat like mine before. It was… unique.

There was a clamor of shouting. Vilkas turned to listen.

"Sounds like the guards are going after the dragon," he said.

"We're going too, aren't we?" Farkas asked.

"Damn right," Vilkas replied, a fierce look on his face. "We're going to make this dragon pay!"

"Wait! I only struck its wing!" I uttered in alarm, re-gathering my strength. "That monster is still a great threat!"

"We'll be ready for it," Aela said. "The dragon can't escape. It's living on borrowed time."

I hissed. The fools! What were they thinking? That dragon was out in the open! They would have no cover from its fire! Worse yet, the beast could still have other magic at its disposal. It was cornered and likely desperate. There was no telling what it might do. Rushing all together would only give it the chance to take more lives.

There had been enough death this day. No more! I would not allow it!

_That dragon is _mine _to kill!_

I broke off into a sprint, racing down the road. Vilkas called out to me. I ignored him. Guardsmen all through Whiterun were celebrating and rushing to the aid of city folk. I caught a glimpse of Irileth rounding up her men to make for the main gates, preparing to chase after the dragon.

They were going to have to beat me to it.

Still under the effects of the potion, I slid to a halt by the city's western wall and vaulted over, keeping against the coarse brick as I slid down its side to the plains below. It was a long drop. On the ground, I pulled another vial from my belt containing a thin green liquid – a simple mixture to restore stamina – and consumed its contents.

With fury that heightened with each step, I ran to the watchtower. I would slay the dragon before anyone else intervened. I knew I could. I felt it in my bones. No one else needed to risk their life. It was _my_ battle to fight.

And I fight my battles alone.


	22. Arc 1 - Chapter 21

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ CHAPTER 21 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

A sulfuric reek blew on the wind. The western watchtower was in shambles, strewn with corpses of watchmen and dying fires. I eased my run and snuck behind a boulder out in the open grass fields. Stars began to shimmer faintly in the skies above. I could hear the beast plodding. It was not far. One last equipment check: my crossbow was loaded, my knife was at my belt, and Xehtasken lay in its sheath.

Releasing a long, smooth exhale, I slowed my breathing and evoked the mantra instilled to me as a hatching in my days of training.

"Tsarkk xhe nohn'daa," I hissed. "Ophik tsaxeh'thu… Jiit ophik'thu."

I was the predator. These tools were my fangs. The time had come to bare them. I feared no pain, nor death. And unless I perished in battle, the dragon would soon know terror.

Such was I, a monster to kill a monster.

Seconds dragged on for hours as I considered my attack. Crumbled segments of a curtain wall rung around the watchtower in a partial circle. It must have once been a larger fortress long ago. The rubble would provide ample concealment and elevation, assuming I could reach the tower at all. Blue light swirled and shimmered in my palm, spell at the ready. Wards would be my strongest defense. The dragon could not break them with its fire, so long as I held firm.

I chanced a peek from behind my boulder, only to throw myself back into cover.

A gale of flame blew against the stone, a blazing caress. It lashed over my head as I ducked to the ground. Sounds of methodical thumping harkened the dragon's approach.

"Ruth ahzid hokoron!" the monster bellowed, its voice deep and raucous. "Alone? You come here to your doom, Kendov. Ziil fent bolog fah aaz!"

There was no reaching the tower now. My adversary loomed, eager to settle the score.

_We fight here. So be it._

I emerged in the open, bracing at the sight of the foul beast. Jagged spines ran the length of its back, undulating upon a hide of dull brown scales. Crooked horns jutted back from its reptilian face. I could see the torn, skin-like tissue of its injured wing, bleeding from severed veins. The dragon uttered its shout, flame bursting from breath.

Useless effort.

_If this monster knows no other magic, it had already lost._

A ward flashed from my outstretched palm, obstructing the wyrm's stream of fire. I could feel my magicka draining away. At most I could hold the shield for a few seconds. I began walking forward against the flames. As the dragon's breath subsided, I dropped my spell and drew Xehtasken. Our eyes met.

There was a brief moment of apprehension. The monster wore a startled look, seeing in me some newfound threat.

"Niid… daar nis kos… Dovahkiin!?"

I charged to meet my foe, sword raised. The dragon lurched headlong to flex its jowl and snapped at me with clenching incisors. I read its motion with ease and jumped aside, lashing out my blade in an upward stroke. Its steel stained red. Flinching back, the dragon shifted the weight of its massive body and crooked its long neck to face me.

"YOL…"

Ward cast, I speared Xehtasken into the ground.

"…TOOR SHUL!"

As I fought against the fire, I could feel my fingers wrap around the wooden handle of my crossbow. The dragon expended the last of its flame. By now my magicka was well drained. It was time to redouble my offensive. I drew my weapon to aim and clasped the trigger. The breadth between us was small. I could not miss. My bolt punched through the dragon's eye with sure precision. It gave a great bellow of pain.

I pulled Xehtasken from the dirt and dashed into a run, sliding beneath the dragon's neck. The tip of my blade slashed into its scaly hide as I sprung to my feet and jumped away. A quick, shallow strike. With a blast of wind from its uninjured wing, the wyrm tried to knock me over. I staggered back, planting a boot behind me. It dug into soil as I stood against the force. No wonder such an immense creature could fly – the power behind its wings was daunting.

Yet I held my footing and stepped back into range. Xehtasken answered the call for blood.

Our fight drove on. At every chance, every opening, I struck the dragon with swift light blows, too nimble to catch. Its size and might meant nothing. A lone hackwing can tear even the throat of the great wamasu. Those thought feeble can shame the strong.

Wounded and battered, the dragon tried once more to clench me in its maw. I dodged and leapt upon the side of the monster's face, feeling the soft wet flesh of its jaw beneath my foot as I kicked to climb atop its head. The wyrm thrashed about, trying to throw me off, snapping and snarling rabidly. There was desperation in its struggle. I gripped the horn on its skull with one hand, sword held in the other.

It threw its neck in one last upswing. I singled out a scale on the dragon's brow and drew back, aiming the sharp point of Xehtasken to thrust. Needless devastation and slaughter had been wrought by this monster. I would reap its pay in full.

From my mouth came a cry of rage. Steel plunged into the dragon's skull. It let out a deathly roar and slumped to the ground, no life left in its muscles.

All was still.

I stood breathless and fatigued over the body of a once proud creature. My adrenaline waned, bringing sore limbs. Irileth and her guardsmen were in sight along with the three Companions, approaching from the road. I jumped down and walked to greet them, raising a gore stained Xehtastken high over my head.

"It's done!" I called out. "The dragon is finished! Whiterun is safe!"

I expected there to be some sort of fanfare in response. Instead the group came suddenly to a stop. They were pointing behind me with startled expressions. I spun around.

The wyrm's corpse was burning, consumed by dazzling fire. Embers fluttered away in the breeze. Light from the flames stretched long shadows at my back.

"What in all the world…!?" I whispered.

There was a rush like wind. Bands of blinding color shot forth and came upon me. I gasped, doubling over as an intense shock brought me to my knees. The dragon's life force surged through my body like a rapid river's flow. Vigorous. Unhindered.

Memories bored into my mind. I glimpsed a vision of a Tamriel long since passed. In the skies of Keizaal – Skyrim – dragons soared, dozens of dozens, every shape and color imaginable. Their roars filled the air. I could see the sun and clouds brushing against jagged mountain peaks as I flew. Rolling plains, blue lakes, and lush forests streaked by in an oily blur.

I saw men dying in battle by the hundreds against the might of winged beasts shouting them down. They were weak. Amidst the scene of chaos, I heard a voice in thought that was not my own. It sounded familiar, deep and strident.

Du los hin nunon dez…

My mind and senses returned. It was over.

I looked upon the dragon's body. It had been reduced to bones with nary a scale or strip of flesh. Kneeling in dirt and dry grass I lingered, mouth agape, unable to speak. The housecarl and her men drew near. I stood and looked to them. Astonished and confused mutterings rose among their ranks.

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes…"

"…like out of the old tales…!"

"It can't be! This lizard…!?"

I could not tell if the mood from these Nords had become reverent or abominating. Whatever the case, I was now a subject of great scrutiny. The Companions lingered further away, watching, speaking amongst themselves.

"What are you all talking about? What do you know of this?" I questioned, anxious and wide-eyed.

One of the guardsmen stepped forward to speak.

"You… you're Dragonborn!"

I felt as though I'd heard that title before.

"_Dragonborn_?" I repeated.

"Yes! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn," he said, "those born with the dragon blood in 'em, like old Tiber Septim himself! They slayed scores of dragons in their day!"

_Tiber Septim? The man who founded the Empire?_

"I've never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons," one of the other guards scoffed.

"There weren't any dragons back then, idiot," another joined in. "They're just coming back now for the first time in… forever!"

"But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could slay dragons and steal their power," the first man insisted, pointing at me. "That's what you did, isn't it? You must be one!"

I wished I could somehow slink away from the sudden commotion. _These Nords are making no sense… I did not steal the dragon's power. _Even if such a thing had transpired, it was not of my volition. It happened by its own accord.

Some of the men regarded the Jarl's housecarl. She seemed lost in deep thought, admiring the wyrm's skeleton.

"What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet."

"Come on Irileth! Tell us! Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?"

The woman turned to face the rabble of guards, a frown drawn on her face.

"Hmph. Some of you Nords would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums over matters you don't know anything about," she muttered.

Irileth strode up to the frame of bones.

"Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. But I don't need some mythical Dragonborn," the housecarl sniped, turning to this one. "Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me."

I did not meet her gaze, averting mine to the road.

"You wouldn't understand, housecarl," one of the guards said. "You ain't a Nord."

The Dunmer gave an indignant huff. "I've been all across Tamriel! I've seen things just as outlandish as this." She paused for a moment. "I'd advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends."

The guardsmen murmured among each other indifferently. Once more, the man who first spoke out spoke again.

"If you really are Dragonborn, you ought to be able to Shout," he said to me.

I blinked in confusion.

"…_Shout_?"

"Yes! Only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do. Can you? Have you tried?"

"I… do not know," I mumbled in bewilderment, growing irritated. "But…"

"Go ahead! There's no harm in it. Just try!"

"Try _what!?_" I snapped. "Anyone can shout! It is not a skill one trains! I don't understand what you–"

An inkling thought forced me to stop mid-sentence.

"Wait…"

I remembered the word imbued at Bleak Falls Barrow. It was no longer without meaning. I understood it. Somehow the knowledge had come to me from the dragon's memories. The word meant 'force.' Raw power, a push without effort. Unrelenting.

_This Nord speaks of shouting. The dragons shouted. The draugr had shouted. Is there nothing more behind this magic?_ Did I simply have to… open my mouth and speak? A part of me did not wish to try. There was a chance it might prove the man's claim true.

But denial would bring me no answers.

I let the word come to focus in my mind, inhaling. It was no different than any other act of shouting. Yet something welled inside me, like pressure behind a bottle's cork. My entire being seemed to lend itself to the act. The sensation came naturally, though its power was frightening. I almost tried to withdraw my breath, but like a dam bursting at its seams the word came free.

"FUS!"

There was a clapping sound like thunder. My voice became a hurling ring of magic. It pushed against the Nord, shoving him backwards. He tripped on a rock and fell clean on his back. The guards exclaimed their surprise.

"By the gods! What manner of power is that!?"

"He summons the Thu'um!"

I winced startlingly, hurrying to help the man I'd knocked over.

"Are you alright!?" I stammered. "I'm sorry, I… I didn't think that through…!"

The Nord was unharmed. If anything, he looked ecstatic.

"That was Shouting you just did! Must be! You really _are_ Dragonborn, then!"

I stepped back, recoiling as though I had been bitten by a snake.

"No… that's… no…!" I hissed in distraught, desperately trying to reason the meaning behind this. "There must be another explanation… I can't be–"

A booming sound echoed from the distant mountains. Everyone looked to the Throat of the World, framed beneath a clear night of shining stars. A shout rang out across the province of Skyrim, louder than anything I had ever heard before.

The call was meant for my ears. By a pricking feeling beneath my scales, I knew.

"**DO-VAH-KIIN!"**

* * *

_Falura_

* * *

_Turdas, 21st of Last Seed 4E 201_

I sat up at my desk, hearing a loud and thunderous voice. At first I thought it was the doing of a dragon. But I quickly dismissed the thought. The shout sounded unmistakably human.

Peering out of the door to my quarters, it appeared I was not the only one startled. The other mages and scholars of the college were all in a tizzy, talking amongst each other with fervor. I ignored the common herd and climbed a spiral staircase to the top of the study tower, stepping into the frozen gloom outside.

Yet another perplexing phenomenon. What did it mean? Was it connected to the dragon's appearance? I reflected in solitude, staring off at the arctic vista. White snow shimmered below Nirn's twin moons, Masser and Secunda. The mountains beyond were dark silhouettes against a starry sky.

It did not take a fool to see that something momentous was happening. I couldn't fathom what fate had in store for the people of Tamriel. Our land is no stranger to crisis, and these events bode ill. Not merely for Skyrim, but for Cyrodiil, Morrowind…

The days to come would be a time of change for us all. I was sure of it.

* * *

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

Everyone and their mother had woken up, crowding through Riften's streets in the dead of night. We all heard it – the shout that came from the mountains. The one calling '_Dovahkiin_.'

Damned if I knew what it meant, but people were sure spooked. I'd never seen an entire city jump on its feet for something. Whatever was happening, it was big. Nords mumbled to one another in hushed tones, tossing familiar names and stories they'd heard as children.

A priestess of Talos started zealously proclaiming 'the return of the Dragonborn.' Was she talking about the Septim emperors? I thought their blood line ended with the death of Martin. Besides old Tiber, he was the only other Dragonborn I knew of. I'd visited his memorial in the Imperial City years ago, at the Temple of the One. The attendant there wouldn't shut up about him.

It's not like people in Cyrodiil don't know who Martin Septim is. He was a hero. He ended the Oblivion Crisis, stopped Mehrunes Dagon from destroying the world at the end of the third era.

I left Riften to its uproar and went back to bed. I wasn't about to make a fuss like everyone else. That call had nothing to do with me.

* * *

_Reinhardt_

* * *

I couldn't believe my ears! It didn't seem real! I'd heard the stories, but I never thought I'd one day live in the midst of them…

The Greybeards. They were summoning a _Dragonborn_ to High Hrothgar, for the first time in centuries! Not since Talos himself! It was history in the making! That night of drinks in Riverwood became one I'd never forget.

Someplace, somewhere, stood a man whose veins coursed with the blood of dragons.

I thought of the beast that burned down Helgen. If it had no reason to be afraid before, it did now. Skyrim was about to change forever. Men who bear the title 'Dragonborn' conquer nations and topple the armies of Daedric Princes! Songs and legends retell their deeds generation after generation!

There was only one question now.

Who? Who among us held such honor and power?

Who could the Dragonborn possibly be?


	23. Arc 1 - Epilogue

**Arc 1 - Arrival in the North**

**~ EPILOGUE ~**

_Darasken_

* * *

We leaned over the cool marble of a wall, watching dragonflies hover above lily pads in a man-made pond. There was little solace to be found in the sight – nothing seemed to stave away our longing for home. We wished to return to the marshes of the east. The Imperial City was disdainful. Everything built in gleaming white stone, nature left only to thrive in small gardens or pools, as though the creatures that dwelled there needed no more space than that allotted by men.

The White-Gold Tower stood behind us, a titanic pillar touching the sky. Ruptures and holes riddled its form. The Thalmor of the Summerset Isles were content to leave their mark after sacking the city. Not even the heart of the Cyrodiilic Empire could walk away from siege weapons unscathed. Restoration work began after the Great War's end, but many walls and ramparts were still under repair.

We rubbed the grey scales on our arm. Our search had so far been fruitless. Yet in spite of a foul mood, we needed to hope we could still catch his trail. We had come so far…

"Did you forget when we were meeting?" a woman suddenly asked.

Afareen leaned over the wall, her dark brown eyes glaring mildly. The shade of a tree filtered spots of sunlight on her dark skin and leather tunic. Humans considered her figure attractive, lean and well-proportioned.

"Ours is to remember details. You know this," we hissed. Tamrielic is not our first language. We find its pronouns confusing. Too simplified.

"Everyone's gathered, Darasken," the Redguard said. "It's you and J'qar we're waiting on."

"The noon bell has not rung. This one assumed there was still time."

"Sun's high enough. The bell will ring any minute now."

We groaned in displeasure.

"Are all so eager to tell of their success…?"

"I wish. It's not looking good so far. The rest of us couldn't find a single lead."

"Not one?" we replied, distressed.

Afareen shook her head.

"He's done a good job covering his tracks this time. We'll be lucky to get even a whiff."

"Xhuth!"

"Couldn't find anything either, huh?"

A clicking growl came from our muzzle. "It is as you say. The traitor was here – of that there is much certainty – but nothing has revealed where he went."

The Redguard sighed, gazing across the pond with us. She brushed back the braids of her hair.

"Guess it's up to the cat, now. If _he_ doesn't find anything, we're sunk," she said. "Let's break the bad news and get it over with."

We complied, following Afareen down the city's bustling streets and alleyways. Stone brick and arched tunnels wound a coiling path through buildings, taverns, and homes. We soon arrived at a small grassy enclosure full of weeds and scattered boulders. A grated manhole rested atop the lip of a drainage tunnel.

Picking open the latch, we descended down into the Imperial City sewers as the temple's noontime bell began its lengthy chime.

The air below ground was thick with moisture and smelled of rot. Light from high ceiling shafts bled into the water channels, glistening against greasy rock walls. Afareen had a torch to spare. We memorized the layout of the sewers in advance.

"I'm not sure I like this choice of meeting place anymore," the Redguard chided.

"There are few locations in the city that avoid traffic," this one replied. "Our conversation would not remain confidential in a pub."

"As if anyone would actually eavesdrop."

"This is a precaution. Bear it for now."

We wound through tight and murky corridors. Light from flickering flames stretched across the wall ahead. As we entered a chamber of fair size, riddled with waste and discarded foods, our sights set on two figures huddling near a campfire.

One was roasting legs plucked from a freshly killed mudcrab – Ugrash, an Orc female, wearing a rough hide garb and barbed gauntlets. Her battle axe was resting on the ground, stained with blood. The other, Nicolard, was a muscular Breton man adorning a set of embroidered cloth robes, steel boots and steel bracers. A blade rested at his side. His bald head and thick eyebrows perked up as we entered.

"About time. Did Darasken find any leads?" the spellsword asked, addressing the Redguard as though we were not present.

"No," Afareen said flatly.

"Figures… I told you he wouldn't," the olive skinned Orc muttered, pulling away her meal from the fire.

Nicolard glanced at us.

"Take a seat, then. We'll wait for the Khajiit. He's got to have found something."

We sat down on opposite sides of the fire. Ugrash devoured her crustacean with tusk-like teeth. All kept silently to themselves. An eclectic party indeed, and this one felt most unwelcome in it. But the An-Xileel would not have these mercenaries pursue such a sensitive target without a delegate to bear witness. Nicolard and Ugrash were the first to voice complaints. J'qar was indifferent. Only Afareen seemed tolerable toward my presence. Of the four, we respected her the most.

Kaah… This one speaks idle gossip. Ours was to be content on this embarking. We would finally send one of Black Marsh's greatest traitors to the void. An honorable commission.

Clattering sounds echoed from further down one of the sewer tunnels. A man covered in fur with the face of a puma emerged from the darkness. The Khajiit J'qar walked slowly toward the fireplace, stooping down onto the floor. His light garbs, brim pockets, and bandolier glowed in the light.

"Well? What did you find?" Nicolard asked.

"Nothing," J'qar declared.

There was a collective jeer. That was the final blow. We had scoured the whole city for clues, questioning probable witnesses, checking log books and ledgers, stealing Imperial records…

"Damn cat, we were counting on you!" Ugrash bellowed.

"What would you have me do? Pull my tail and make an Argonian appear from the air?" J'qar scoffed.

"I don't get it!" Nicolard exclaimed. "We've kept up with him till now. How can he cover his tracks so perfectly all of a sudden?"

"He cannot," this one replied, "unless he has been holding reserve. Xhu?"

The Breton leaned forward in his seat.

"You don't think…?"

"If not that, then he's manipulated us," Afareen said. "Left enough crumbs to lure us here before finally ditching the bread."

"Yes. He knows the An-Xileel still pursue him," we rejoined. "This was a grand effort to completely erase his trail, something beyond our ability to predict."

The others sulked. Until then, we found it unusual that the traitor would risk exposing himself to public witness in a place like the Imperial City. Now we saw through his intent. The city lies at the center of Tamriel. He could have gone in _any_ direction across the continent. Without a lead, we could do little more than pick a course and hope to find him by chance.

Okan-Zeeus was a master tracker among the Zanxhu-Loh. That skill and knowledge served him well as a fugitive. It appeared we were bested by his cunning.

"So what do we do now?" Ugrash asked, slumping back against the slimy sewer wall.

"We go home. Our chase cannot continue," J'qar shrugged. "We would be combing for a whisker in the desert."

"I can't believe this!" Nicolard fumed furiously. "Four months! We spend almost four months trying to catch this scaleback, son of a whore…!"

"There's nothing we could have done," Afareen asserted. "We were in over our heads. The An-Xileel wouldn't offer a fortune's worth of gold to find just anyone. If killing this Argonian was easy, someone would have done it a long time ago."

The spellsword paused, swearing under his breath.

"Then that's it. It's over," he said, gesturing with a toss of his hand. "We have no idea where he is or where he's gone. Any more searching is pointless."

Nicolard looked to his compatriots. This contract had promised them wealth enough to live lavishly for years. We could see the displeasure in their eyes. They felt cheated, as though they had discovered all along that they were chasing the wind.

"Grab your things. We're done here."

The group picked themselves up and prepared to leave. They would no doubt spend the eve drinking away thoughts of their failure. This one, however, was not yet ready to concede defeat. We spoke up.

"Wait. There is more we can do."

J'qar let out a bad-tempered huff.

"Khajiit disagrees. Our efforts have proved to be in vain. Who is to say this will not remain true, going forward…?"

"Forget it, Darasken," Nicolard retorted. "If anyone's finding Okan-Zeeus, it's not gonna be us. We're cutting our losses. Go back to Black Marsh and tell those ambassadors to find some other chumps to do their dirty work."

We exposed our teeth in anger. "This is unworthy of you. We must not let the traitor have his way! If we grant him this leave, he may never resurface!"

"So? Who cares?" Ugrash snorted.

"Damn straight!" the Breton replied, glaring at me. "Ten years dangling a bounty over Okan-Zeeus' head, the An-Xileel ought to know when to give up."

"You would let the villain roam free?" we hissed. "Were you not told of his crimes? Okan-Zeeus sought to bring anarchy upon our people! He is a mass murderer and a disgrace–"

"He's a _hermit_!" Nicolard snapped. "Lives in the wild and minds his own business! That's all he's practically done since we started tracking him!"

"You made Okan-Zeeus out to be quite the tall tale, Darasken," Afareen said. "He's clever, I'll give him that, but he's not what you've lead him on to be. I hope you're not coloring this man with some patriotic vendetta."

We remained firm, inwardly acknowledging the Redgaurd's perceptiveness.

"Our desire is to see justice done. No more, no less," this one avowed, looking to Nicolard. "If you could grasp the weight of what Okan-Zeeus nearly did to the Saxhleel, you would not dare yield at the first sign of defeat. Are we hapless and weak as hatchlings? No! We must persevere!"

"Stow your crap, lizard!" the Breton snapped. "An-Xileel be damned; you're not here to give us orders!"

"We ask for one more chance, Nicolard. You are free to disregard our words and leave if you so wish…"

Looking about the room, we met the eyes of every able body present.

"…This speaks to everyone here. Abandon everything we have worked toward if that is your choice. But can you all truly give up now, after coming so far, knowing that we might miss our last chance to catch this traitor?"

Silence.

"What would you have us do?" Afareen finally asked.

"The only information we lack is Okan-Zeeus' bearing from here," we said. "Some of you have contacts in Cyrodiil's other cities, yes? Since we cannot scour the whole of the province ourselves, we would be wise to seek their assistance. We need only to reach them by letter…"

"To see if they can find anything," Afareen interpolated.

Nicolard rolled his eyes.

"That's your idea?" he scoffed. "Sit here with our thumbs up our asses and hope that somebody out there _happened_ to see Okan-Zeeus walk by?"

"It is more efficient than spreading to search for leads on foot," we replied.

"This does not matter. It all works out the same," J'qar said. "Our odds of discovering anything useful are slim."

This was true. Very true.

"We can still try. Only when we have exhausted all resources should we quit."

Afareen came close. "Darasken, we don't have enough contacts to reach across all of Cyrodiil. Bruma, Skingrad, and Cheydinhal are the only places we could write to for help. _Maybe _Leyawiin, gods permitting."

"That is all we need."

Nicolard cut in. "Far from it! Okan-Zeeus could have gone anywhere!"

"He _could_ have gone anywhere, but there are only so many places he can go," we retorted. "Have you forgotten? The An-Xileel has gathered intelligence on the traitor's activities. Some provinces can be ruled out."

"Such as…?" Afareen asked.

Our tail swayed with vigor. "We know he will not return to Black Marsh. Nor will he travel to Morrowind."

"Okan-Zeeus has to know some secrets about the An-Xileel," the Breton said. "He could make a deal with House Redoran – information in exchange for protection."

"That is not his way. We have seen that he avoids contact with civilization. Besides this, there are too many risks. He would surely be attacked on sight upon entering great house territory."

There was unspoken agreement. We continued.

"Moreover, we believe that the traitor has enemies in Elsweyr. He clashed with members of the Renrijra Krin three years ago for reasons unknown. Though his status under the Mane has not diminished, there would be few safe places in the province for Okan-Zeeus to hide."

"That leaves the western half of Tamriel," Afareen noted.

"Yes. He has already spent time in High Rock and Hammerfell. We cannot rule out that he may return to either region, but if the traitor is seeking new asylum he will travel north or southwest."

"Hmph. Aren't you sure of yourself," Ugrash remarked.

"We understand how he thinks," this one hissed. "Okan-Zeeus is trying to isolate himself from the larger world. He may seek the harsh ice lands of the north, where no one treads. Or perhaps an island. The Summerset Isles, Stros M'kai, and Solstheim are all accessible through the routes available to him."

"This sounds far-fetched, Darasken," Nicolard retorted.

"It is. But the regions near Bruma, Skingrad, and Cheydinhal are still possible crossing points for the traitor to take, wherever he intends to travel. Even if our chances of finding him are next to none, what is there to lose in trying?"

The troupe of mercenaries glanced at one another. There was still potential in our mission. They needed to see that. We could not give up now.

Afareen spoke to Nicolard. "There are plenty of bounties we can pick up around the city while we wait for our friends to reply. What's the harm in writing a few letters?"

The bald-headed Breton sighed and regarded the others.

"Thoughts?"

"Khajiit would not be against this," J'qar replied.

"If it means we get to go out and find trouble, I don't mind the wait," Ugrash said.

Nicolard mused for a while.

"Alright lizard," he grumbled. "We'll wait ten days to hear back. If nothing comes by then, we leave. Got it?" The man exchanged looks with everyone. "Start writing, people. Let's get couriers on the road before the day's out."

Satisfaction. The five of us separated to resurface at different sewer grates, making it easier to avoid attention. Despite this victory, the blind luck it would take for these contacts to provide a lead _was_ discouraging. We were fumbling in darkness.

But the traitor was tired, enough to try and throw us off his scent for good. His life on the run was wearing him down. One side or the other had to make a decisive move. The letters – this gamble – was our move. No better could be made.

The game was nearing its end, and Okan-Zeeus' death was overdue.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_A note on Darasken's use of pronouns. He refers to himself as "we" due to Tamrielic (read: English) not being his first language. Jel in my story is completely based off of lu_ming's Jel Language Project._

_In Jel, Argonians refer to themselves using a "connected" set of pronouns to indicate all individuals connected through the Hist (i.e. 'sep' for 1st person connected and 'see' for 1st person disconnected). Since Darasken refers to himself in a connected sense, he uses "we" instead of "I" as a sort of linguistic compromise between Jel and Tamrielic._


	24. Arc 2 - Prologue

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ PROLOGUE ~**

_Okan-Zeeus_

* * *

**_Ten years ago…_**

I awoke with a start. Sitting upright, my senses alert, I scanned the room around me. It was small and dark with rounded walls made of dried mud, straw and log frame. Small jars rested upon a hanging set of shelves suspended by ropes. Wicker baskets were piled in a corner. A soft leaf pallet lay beneath me.

This was my home in the outskirts of Archon – I had merely woken up. As I steadied my breathing, I felt a shuffling beside me. Milah was awake as well. I must have disturbed her sleep, though she seemed content to ignore my sudden fit of rousing. Slowly, silently, I stood and walked through a doorway draped with fern leaves into an adjoining living space. An empty fire pit for cooking sat in the room's center, encircled by assorted amenities, including a wood table with log stump seats.

_Hist spit on these nightmares, _I thought to myself. _Will they ever stop?_

The cool damp air of the night sent shivers down my tail. Moonlight glazed across the dirt floor from a smoke vent in the domed ceiling, my knothole to the rainforest sky. I lingered, staring up at the glow of a crescent Secunda. Crickets and tree frogs chirped outside in cadenced disharmony. I wanted to believe all here was peaceful. How badly I wanted to.

I drew a sharp breath through my nostrils, trying to take in the smell of the room. The scent of blood proved too overwhelming. It was nearly all I smelled anymore.

Stooping over a small baked clay basin, I caught my ghastly reflection. Faint traces of black pigment clung to the skull-like façade staring back at me. I splashed water on my face, rubbing it clean. Everything felt dull and languid. Nights like this always came on the eve of black letter dead drops. Clasping the edges of the bowl, I leaned my weight against it, watching the water ripple. My breathing was slow and heavy. Droplets fell from stubble horns on my chin.

This was torture. Such insufferable waiting! The An-Xileel would not gather at Helstrom's Great Xanmeer until the coming new moons, an entire week! Each sordid day felt longer than the last.

Times of strife were looming over Black Marsh. The murders of Jeeral-Bex and Kianatepa at the festival of Xohn-Thiliul had brought tensions to the brink. They were two of the south's most influential organs, in Soulrest and Blackrose respectively, with strong ties to the An-Xileel. They were also not the first of our people's leaders to die in recent months. Each killing was the same – a random time, a random place, quick and silent without ceremony.

I had been involved in the efforts to track down those responsible, though the assassinations were not all that plagued us. Thefts of written records and ambushed couriers marred our investigations at every turn. The Dark Elves were not to blame. They could never operate in our borders so easily. Long before the events of the festival, I suspected the roots of this infection grew from within. Mahei-Ru and others among Archon's organism shared this feeling.

There were traitors in our midst, sowing seeds of panic and discord. To what end I did not know.

Neither did I care. This would be _their_ problem to resolve. I was done with the An-Xileel. Milah and I were going to leave Black Marsh for good without delay or regret. No one would be able to stop us. The only two Argonians in the entire east who could track me were Zollassa and Ixtha-Kai. They would both be at Helstrom serving as bodyguards. I knew how best to travel unseen, to stay hidden against all peering eyes. By the time a single soul were to learn of our departure, the gap would be too great to close. One more week. I was growing eager and impatient.

But I dared not act in reckless abandon. There remained a complication, one entrusted to my care.

I looked to the other side of the room. Against the wall was a nest woven out of hey and threaded string, set inside a wooden basket. It was crude and makeshift, but comfortable for its sole occupant: an Argonian egg, five months incubated. Its rough speckled surface shone in the moonlight.

Truly a marvel… To think that within the small shell slept a creature coursing with Saxhleel blood. My blood. And Milah's.

A chilling breeze blew down into the room. I became concerned. It was an unusually cold night. The egg needed warming. Normally midwives tend to eggs in clutches at the hatching pools. Milah knew enough that she could care for ours herself, while instructing me how to do it as well. It was at times a much more demanding ordeal than I expected.

I shuffled over and knelt down by the nest. Gathering a well of magicka in my hand, a soft orange glow shone forth, radiating warmth. I caressed the egg gently, trying to raise its temperature. Not all eggs are cared for with magic, but this one was privileged to have a healer for a mother. And a far less talented apprentice as a father.

So focused on maintaining my concentration, I only noticed Milah's presence as she walked up beside me.

"Be careful. You're not attuning the strength of the spell. You'll overheat the egg," she said. "Here, I'll do it."

"So you _are_ awake," I said, backing off to give my mate the room she needed.

"Yes. Would you happen to know who I could thank for that…?"

I averted my eyes to the egg, embarrassed.

"Sorry…"

Milah shook her head. "You should have tried harder to wake me. You're still not practiced enough to use your spell."

"I wanted to let you sleep. I managed this alone last time, didn't I?"

"While I was watching carefully over your shoulder? Is that _alone_ to you?"

I accepted defeat without another word. She was right. In my haste I could have made any number of errors. I was still far behind her level of skill. Milah had proven herself a good teacher, but I was a slow student. Casting restoration magic was nothing like using a weapon or surviving in the wilderness. Even in something as simple as egg tending, I faltered from novice mistakes. She glanced over at the glum look on my face.

"You know I appreciate the thought," Milah said in a calming voice, "but I'd rather be awake and angry than asleep while you cause an accident."

I gave a slight crestfallen chuckle. "I am not sure which of those is the lesser evil."

"That's not funny."

"Neither is being on my end of the matter."

"What have I ever done to you for waking me up?"

I folded my arms, giving off a scent of enthusiasm.

"Hmm… Now isn't _that_ the question. What indeed…"

Milah threw me a dubious pair of eyes. "Are you trying to guilt me?"

"No, but I'll be happy to if you want."

"Okan-Zeeus, don't you dare."

"Should I start with least or worst offense?"

"You have a _list_?"

"Remind me, didn't you once threaten to feed me to the swamp eels for stirring you out of bed…?"

Milah rolled her eyes and gave a playful shove, continuing to work on the egg.

"I did. And I'll still do it. Will you let me finish?"

My smile showed teeth.

"You had but to ask."

I sat quietly, watching the glow of my wife's magic play off the surface of her emerald green scales. Her orange eyes were gleaming. Moonlight filtered through the translucent fins on her head and rendered a glossy shine along the contours of her body. She noticed I was staring.

I remained as bad then at hiding my affections as when we first met. For good reason – I never tried to. I adored her. She had become so many things to me; a confidant, a lover, a trusted friend. Our times spent together were fleeting glimpses of the peace I hoped to one day know. Milah withdrew her spell and sat back, tail drawn around her legs.

"That should be enough for now," she said. "The sun will rise soon."

"Good," was all I thought necessary to say.

We both silently admired the egg, each dreaming our own dreams of its hatching. The life within that shell bristled with energy, eager to swim in new waters.

"It's gotten big. It won't be long before the egg tooth grows in," I said.

"If he hasn't grown it already," Milah asserted.

I sighed. She insisted she knew what life phase the hatchling would take. I wasn't sure what brought on this assumption, nor did I encourage it. At times I thought Milah did it to tease me. She knew I wanted the opposite. My only hope was that she wouldn't be disappointed if her prediction proved wrong. The ordeal of our escape was already putting pressures on her. Among Milah's tribe, many raised bitter objections at our decision to keep a hatchling separated from the Hist at birth. It is a grievous taboo among the Saxhleel, more so in the east than in other regions of Black Marsh.

The Hist are… difficult to describe to outsiders. Many disregard them as little more than trees. Simply know that the Hist gave my people their souls. In the swamps they shaped us, formed us, gave us purpose. We depend on them, while they depend on us. It is symbiosis in the truest sense.

Though perhaps I should mention something else…

The Hist possess powers of prescience. They have protected my people from great harm throughout the past. Before the Oblivion Crisis, they forewarned the Saxhleel of Dagon's coming. Our people fearlessly drove back the daedra with this foresight. While other provinces suffered terrible loss, Black Marsh stood strong.

Yet the Hist remained _silent_ about the traitors in Black Marsh, or at least they were silent to most. Our Treeminders still heard their voices, but they refused to share anything. Only in dire times have the Hist secluded their connection to a chosen few. It is almost unheard of. _All_ commune with the Hist. They speak to my people in visions brought by dreams, by consuming their sap, or by even physically touching a tree. I have heard vivid descriptions of the link shared between Hist and Argonian.

I cannot testify to their truth. The trees have never spoken to me in all my life. Everything I know of them is second-hand. But this is another discussion for another time.

As we lingered in silence, my wife peered at me concernedly, sensing something was amiss.

"You didn't wake up because of the egg, did you? What's wrong?" she asked.

I tensed at the question. "I am fine, Milah."

"You look tired. Are you still not sleeping?"

"There is much stressing me."

"I'm stressed too, but I'm getting good rest. You haven't slept soundly in days."

_I'll sleep soundly when I'm dead_…

"It is nothing more than a few bad dreams. You needn't worry yourself with me," I consoled as warmly as I could, giving a hopeful smile. "They will pass in time, I am sure of it."

Milah tried to be cheerful in turn, but her scent still veiled deep worry. She had every reason to be concerned about my condition. The risks involved in our plan were great. If any opposition bore down on us, I would face the brunt of it. Worse yet, leaving in light of recent events would almost certainly paint suspicion on me – perhaps even a target.

It would be the same in any case, though. If I was to end my service to the An-Xileel, desertion or death were my only options. One cannot simply resign from an enlistment like mine. It is a life-long vocation.

"I know you're trying hard to be brave. There must be something that can help you rest. You need your strength," my wife insisted. "I will see an herbalist tomorrow. I'm sure Ah-Keeus or Onuja could make something for you."

I became irritated.

"I have no need for medicine."

"Something is causing these bad dreams."

"This isn't an ill of the body."

"Then what is it?"

My glare in reply was firm.

"Milah, you know the work that I do! These dreams…"

I trailed off. Though I had the words to describe them, the nightmares were too horrid to speak of aloud. So often I would wonder if they were spirits sent to torment me, to see that I never forgot my deeds or the faces of the dead.

"What I need now is to flee from Black Marsh and the An-Xileel," I said, "to leave this life behind! Only then can I truly be cured of this sickness."

"And if that isn't enough?"

"It will be."

"Okan-Zeeus…"

"It _will_ be! It has to!"

My voice had nearly risen to a yell. Milah withdrew her dispute, coiling in her tail protectively. I knew what that meant. I was frightening her. I settled down, hanging my head contritely.

"Milah, it has to… I have to stop… I can't live this way anymore…!"

The years had bled me of my fortitude. I could no longer tell myself that the work I did was for the good of the Argonian people. The senseless pain, violence and carnage had to end. The An-Xileel may have made me an instrument of their will, but my soul could never truly thirst for blood no matter how much it tasted. My wife understood this better than anyone.

Our eyes met. I wanted to apologize for my outburst, but before I could speak she drew close and nuzzled her forehead against mine. Words were unnecessary. It was enough to simply be in the presence of someone who cared.

"The day will come soon, and we'll be ready," Milah eventually said. "We have to keep our eyes down the river."

"I know. And I will," I replied, uplifted somewhat. "It will be a joy to start anew."

"Have you thought any more about where we will go?" she asked with sudden delight.

"I am sure you have enough ideas for the both of us," I said.

"Does it not excite you? All of Tamriel is open to us! The forests of Valenwood, the coasts of Hammerfell, the mountains of Skyrim…"

"Us? Living in the mountains?" I frowned. "I can't picture that."

"But we could do it, couldn't we? It doesn't matter where we go."

I cast a sideways glace. "As long as the people are friendly…"

"Healers are well met by most."

"That makes _you_ well met."

"And you, dearest husband. You're always so hard on yourself, but you're learning so fast," she assured me lovingly. "We could open a practice together, you and I. Find a quiet village that will take us. The three of us. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

This was her dream. The dream she wanted me to be a part of. It was more than I deserved. A chance to spend the rest of my days giving life instead of taking it…

"I would like that very much," I answered softly.

We remained in each other's presence for a while longer, lost in the moment. Then Milah stood up, giving me a hopeful smile.

"Come back to sleep. You have a long day tomorrow."

"I will… Just wait for me. I need to be alone for now."

My wife lingered, looking back at me as she returned to our bedroom. All became still. Moonlight no longer filled the room. I stared at the egg beside me, thinking troubled thoughts.

_How could I let it come to this? Was I deluded to think I could live a normal life, that there would be no repercussions?_ There was so much at stake. I was putting my family in danger, all to relieve myself of my own burdens. If securing their future meant laying down my life…

I would not fail. I refused to. Our plan would succeed.

My family would safely escape Black Marsh.

With or without me.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_There's a lot here that's lore established and a lot that's not. The notions of Argonian eggs being tended with magic, as well as the taboo regarding eggs kept from the Hist, were both of my own imagining. "Swamp eels" were another thing I made up. The festival mentioned and the great Xanmeer of Helstrom are also my ideas._

_Everything else, though, is all in TES lore. I hope I've done Argonian culture some justice in my portrayal._


	25. Arc 2 - Chapter 1

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 1 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

I walked a lonely path, minding the soil my feet would tread. Orange leaves blew away from birch trees in the whistling wind. _Autumn…? So soon?_ I must have lost track of the seasons. My legs halted their gait. In the dimming blue sky, cumulous clouds flaunted their size. They floated across the sun like heaps of dark cotton lined with bright yellow trimming. Rays of light stretched out from behind. Geese flew through the air in v-formations, perfecting the picture of depth. I breathed in deep and felt a chill rush through my lungs. Truly, the eastern Rift of Skyrim displayed its full splendor that evening.

I took what pleasure I could in the sight before resuming my trek. I hadn't the time to dally.

On approach to Lake Geir, the village of Ivarstead arose into view. Balgruuf the Greater had spoken of it, a small settlement near the base of the Throat of the World. From there, one could ascend its icy slopes. An ancient monastery called High Hrothgar awaited those who braved the Seven Thousand Steps.

And I had been called to brave them.

~ooooo~

It was several days ago, the eve of the dragon's assault. A thunderous sound had rung from the mountains – a shout, calling "_Dovahkiin._" I returned to Whiterun with the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth. Fires flaring in the distant city died down as guardsmen and commoners doused their remnants. In the cold stillness of the night, the clamor of battle still rang in my ears faintly like a whisper.

"That was hairiest fight I've ever been in," Irileth remarked, walking beside me, "and I've been in more than a few."

"This one could say the same," I muttered, ignoring the soreness in my limbs.

"Our city will need to bolster its defenses. There's no telling if or when this may happen again."

"Xhu. Your fear is justified. We may hope that the death of this dragon will deter other attacks, at least for a time."

Silence befell us as we trod our path. The Dunmer woman was as I – quiet, contemplative. She seemed lost in some deep thought. Her later words broke the silence and revealed what laid on her mind.

"I don't know anything about this Dragonborn business," she said, "but I'm glad you were with us today. Jarl Balgruuf will be pleased hear about your victory."

I did not reply. After the housecarl's men proclaimed me to be Dragonborn, I refused to speak on the matter. Nordic flights of fancy were no concern of mine.

Eventually we arrived at the city gates, stepping into the refuge of walls once thought protective. The devastation was great. Wooden homes in Whiterun's poorer districts were sundered and charred. Most of the city's buildings were intact, but in great need of repair. Standing tall and strong beneath the stars, Dragonsreach showed the least damage of all. As Irileth and I meandered through the streets, guards ran to and fro, their torches flickering in the night like fireflies. My snout caught a whiff of blood.

Mere hours ago, the commoners of this place were living out their day no different than their last. Now they sat along the streets, picking through the wreckage of their homes and mourning the losses of loved ones. I felt terrible sadness at the sight of these people. They would recover, but the scars left behind were deep.

_Why did the dragon attack this city? What had it hoped to accomplish…?_

The Dunmer and I entered the hall of the Jarl's palace. Our footsteps echoed. Little had changed inside since I last saw it. Dragonsreach was barren of people and eerily quiet. Suddenly Balgruuf'steward, Proventus Avenicci, emerged from a basement passage, walking briskly to the eastern wing. He caught sight of us and stopped.

"Oh, good! You're finally here!" he exclaimed. "The Jarl's been waiting for you."

The balding man motioned for us to follow. We began climbing a stairwell that lead to the war room. Most of everyone still present in the palace had gathered there, namely the Jarl and his personal guard, along with his brother Hrongar, a stout man wearing sleeveless leather armor laid with furs. I could hear Balgruuf speaking to him as we topped the flight of stairs.

"You heard the summons… what else could it mean?"

Sounds of boots upon stone declared our presence as we entered the room.

"Ah, we were just talking about you!" the Jarl's brother said to us, a smile on his bearded face.

"Excuse the delay," Irileth spoke with slight sarcasm. "We have our report."

Balgruuf stepped forward, eager to listen.

"What happened at the watchtower? Is the dragon dead?" he asked.

"It is, my Jarl. From what we saw, it destroyed the tower before attacking the city. There were no survivors, but at least now the dead can rest easy."

"So it's done then," the Jarl sighed with relief. "I knew I could count on you!"

"For once _I_ had nothing to do with it," the housecarl said, moving aside from me. "This Argonian slew the dragon single-handed before me or my men could arrive."

The gazes of the Nords bore upon me. They were surprised at this news, while my irritation was questionably masked. I had no desire to be present, but the Dunmer had insisted that I return with her to give my account of the dragon's death. Begrudgingly, I went along.

"Is this true?" the Jarl enquired.

"Yes," I said.

Balgruuf's forehead wrinkled.

"There must be more to it than that."

"There is. But I must ask first – how bad were the casualties here?"

Those were not the words the Jarl expected from me. Hrongar took some offense at my conduct. To him, perhaps, this was some unseemly act of beating about the bush.

"Only twelve deaths have come to our attention," Balgruuf said. I presumed the wounded count was much higher.

"Twelve…?" I repeated.

"Not one in a dozen. Mostly our own guard," Proventus added. "Thank the divines! We could have lost a great many more."

"We'd have seen more losses in a skirmish with the Stormcloaks," Hrongar scoffed. "The dragon proved its weakness today. So much for old legends."

"It still took twelve lives," I hissed angrily.

"How you choose to see the matter is your business," Balgruuf said to me. "Now tell me what's happened."

I carefully thought through my reply.

"Unfortunately, I am still unsure of what happened. Shortly after killing the dragon, one of your men began to call me 'Dragonborn.'"

The Jarl eyed me with sudden suspect.

"Dragonborn? What do _you_ know about the Dragonborn…?"

"Nothing. That is merely the title he gave. Should I assume you know more?"

Balgruuf stroked his long chin beard.

"I only know what the old tales tell of them," he said. "The Dragonborn were once great heroes. They used the power of their Voices to defeat the enemies of Skyirm. Wulfharth was Dragonborn. Talos too – the founder of the empire, back in the good old days."

At times I forgot that the Nords favored referring to Tiber Septim as Talos. Cyrodiilic religion dictates that Tiber ascended to the heavens and became Talos, the ninth divine. Or rather it used to, before Talos worship was outlawed.

"Why did one of my soldiers call _you_ Dragonborn?" the Jarl prodded, still unsatisfied with my account.

Irileth came to the fore. "When the dragon died, the Argonian absorbed some sort of power from it. A form of magic summoned by shouting."

The Dunmer was quick to mention the details I desired not to. It was childish thinking on my part, to hope I could steer the conversation away from me. Proventus seemed intrigue at this news. The Nords, meanwhile, looked as though their world had upturned. Balgruuf was especially stunned.

"Is this true? You can Shout?" he asked ardently.

I could only shrug. "So it would seem."

"He knocked over a man with a single word," Irileth rejoined, eyeing me. "There were several witnesses. I have no doubt he could do it again, if he chose to."

"I do not plan to try here, if that is your concern," I said to her.

"Then the Greybeards… they were summoning _you_!" the Jarl declared.

"The Greybeards?"

"Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high atop the slopes of the Throat of the World."

My ignorance was woefully apparent. I let out a rasping sigh, scratching the feathers on my head.

"A thousand pardons… You will have to explain this in terms I may understand. Why am I being summoned? And for what?"

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice," Balgruuf said. "The ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout."

"And the Greybeards are masters of this… Voice?"

Balgruuf nodded. "In the old stories, the Greybeards would summon the Dragonborn for training. They're the only ones who follow the Way of the Voice anymore. They can teach you how to use your gift!"

My brow sunk low.

"You seem certain of all this," I muttered.

Hrongar was quick to fervently respond. "Didn't you hear the thundering sound from the mountains? That was the voice of the Greybeards summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in… centuries, at least!"

"He's right. I envy you this honor," Balgruuf said, smiling. "You'd better prepare for the journey to High Hrothgar. It's no small climb up the Seven Thousand Steps."

I grimaced.

"The seven thousand… _what_?"

"I made the pilgrimage once. High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very... disconnected from the troubles of this world."

Perhaps upon another day I would have found that description interesting. But all I felt was frustration. An impatient scowl had crept upon my countenance.

"Have I no say in this matter?" I hissed.

Balgruuf sensed my reluctance. "If the Greybeards think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? This is sacred tradition."

"I did not willfully absorb the dragon's power. It happened of its own accord. The causer could have been the dragon, not I."

The Jarl's smile faded.

"Killing that dragon revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. Their call was for your ears. Don't deny it. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards."

"Refusal is within my right."

Hrongar started fuming.

"Do you have no respect?" he exclaimed. "You would spit on the Greybeards' offer of counsel?"

"I never asked for their counsel," I sighed. "Leave me be. I have no quarrel with you."

"But why would–"

"The Argonian has made his stance clear, Hrongar," Irileth interrupted. "Your barking won't convince him of anything."

Balgruuf was ignoring the squabble, staring sternly at me. I stared back.

"This one does not wish to disrespect you or your people's traditions," I said. "But the choice to answer this summon is mine. I will need time to think on it first."

After considering my words, the Jarl gave his.

"Very well. I trust you'll make the right judgment."

I turned away. "If there is nothing more, then…"

The Jarl rested his hand on a weapon at his belt.

"There is. You've yet to be rewarded."

I spun back.

"What?"

Balgruuf unholstered a fine steel axe, holding it against his side. I nearly reached for my own weapon reflexively, before realizing the Nord had no malicious intent. He walked to a nearby chest that sat on a shelf and pulled out a pair coin purses. They rattled in his hand as he brought them to me along with the axe.

"You've done a great deal for me and my city. Retrieving the Dragonstone for Farengar… _Slaying_ a dragon… Let it never be said that Jarl Balgruuf the Greater doesn't reward those deserving of it!"

The Jarl held out the gifts in his hands. I took them with much hesitation.

"By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun," Balgruuf decreed. "It is the highest honor within my power to grant. Take this sum from our treasury, and this weapon to serve as your badge of office."

I held up the axe to my face. My reflection cast on the surface of the blade. It was warped, but all the features were there. I looked weary…

"Thane? I do not know what this is," I spoke softly.

"The Jarl has acknowledged you as a person of importance to the hold – a hero!" Proventus said. "The title of Thane is an invitation into the royal court."

Balgruuf smiled proudly. "I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. I'll also notify my guard of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn."

First Xehtasken, now this. I could not tell if the Jarl was truly charitable or merely trying to buy my favor. Either way I would soon disappoint him. Refusing all of the Jarl's reward held the risk offending him, so I chose to keep the purses at least. Money is valuable as a means to an end. I do not cling to wealth for its own sake. Death counts all treasures as loss. And we all die eventually, some sooner than others.

Head hung in respect, I handed back the axe.

"You are generous. But I have no desire for land or title. I ask only for this: speak nothing of me to anyone. Live as though we never met. That is greatest gift you can give me now."

I looked up at the flummoxed Jarl, relaying with my eyes the distresses of a dead man walking.

"Do not keep me further," I implored. "I wish to leave."

The Jarl stood still, before taking the weapon from my hand. His court watched in silence.

"I never asked you your name," Balgruuf said.

"You have no need for it," I replied, walking away.

I felt the eyes of the group bead on my back. Heading down the stairwell, my tail swayed lethargically. As I left the confines of Dragonsreach, I could hear the Jarl's distant voice.

"Back to business, Proventus. We have a city to repair…"

The nighttime air outside was frigid, no longer filled with smoke. I kept my snout to the ground, pacing along the dimly lit roads of the Wind District. A group of men and women gathered near the ruins of a building caught sight of me passing by. Hushed murmurs rose among them. I regarded them fleetingly and growled softly to myself.

A woman in the darkness bumped into me. Her cloth and linen clothes were flecked with soot.

"Excuse me," I said, pushing past. The woman began to follow.

"Hey! It's you!" she exclaimed. "You're the one who killed the dragon! Is it true what everyone says? Did you really strike it down from the sky?"

_I don't have time for this…_

I glared back at the woman. She stopped follow me, a look of fear in her eyes. Perhaps I had been too harsh. I continued on my way down to the Plains District, passing through the marketplace. More people were pointing at me, gawking at the sight of the scalebacked hero that saved their city. One man started cheering. I threw over my hood, snarling in discontent.

_No more… Stop this, please…!_

"You there! Argonian!" another man called out. It was one of the guardsmen. Hot light from his torch flared against my face as he walked alongside me. "There's been talk amongst the guards. That you are… Dragonborn. But such a thing… surely that's not possible, is it?"

"I have nothing to say to you!" I snapped at him. "Leave me be!"

I broke away from the Nord and pressed through the large wooden gates of Whiterun, slinking off into the dark of night, cursing the ill fate wrought upon me.

~ooooo~

Evening faded to dusk. Ivarstead's lodgings peeked above the forest. The village was not far, just to the north. Smolder from chimneys promised warmth and food for those passing through. I arrived at a roadway fork and perused the cluster of wooden arrows nailed upon a sign post. Each carved out name read aloud in my mind. _Ivarstead. Riften. Whiterun. Helgen_…

I stood still and reflected on the days past, feeling the wind blow against my body. Defeat had overwhelmed me that fateful night in Whiterun. There was no one to blame but myself. _I_ followed the carriages to Helgen. _I_ warned the Jarl of the black dragon's attack. _I_ set in motion all that was happening to me.

My death had been sealed by my own hands.

None could fathom my struggles, the years spent running, never resting my head. Time and again I eluded the An-Xileel like a bird escaping a fouler's snare. I thought I could outsmart them. Months were spent preparing for the journey to Skyrim. I erased my trail completely. No one was to know where I went.

That was over now. I killed a dragon. I saved an entire city. Word of my deed would spread _far_. My efforts to travel north unfollowed were ashes in the wind. The An-Xileel would have all the tracks they needed to find me. I knew their tenacity. How long did I have?

_And what of these Greybeards? What of me?_

Was I truly what the Nords claimed me to be?

_Dragonborn…_

I refused to believe it.

My heart felt pained and heavy. The hatchling I once was would have wallowed in tears under such immense stress. Whatever I had become since then was not so feeble, if nothing else. My resolve was all I had left. The will to honor those who gave me my freedom, to keep old promises. Everywhere I went I found reasons to fight. To act. To do what I thought was just.

But it was foolish to think I could go on without tiring. I am no warrior who revels in the thrill of combat. I despise conflict. Yet in spite of this, the world was not ready for my resignation. It demanded more of me. I was to become this… Dragonborn_._ Why? Had I not lived through enough? Was I to face hardships unending? To die sword in hand, a killer to my last days?

Glancing at the village of Ivarstead one last time, I turned away and continued east.

All I wanted was for the world to leave me in peace…


	26. Arc 2 - Chapter 2

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 2 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

I strummed a claw across the bristles of my arrow's fletching. If there's one thing I hate about highway robberies, it's the waiting time. Having to loaf around for minutes or hours on end until somebody worth half a Septim passes by. But we were waiting with a purpose. The caravan was on a tight schedule and it wouldn't dare be late.

In fact, it came right on time.

"I see the cart down the road. It's coming this way," I whispered down the rocks to the ground below me. A fellow thief was crouching behind a bush buried in snow. His outfit matched mine – russet leather armor brimming with pockets, pouches and bags, along with a hood and fur snow gear. Standard guild attire. The Thieves Guild knew how to dress for work, I'll give them that much.

"Remember, let them make the first move," Thrynn whispered back. "Try to give 'em a good scare, eh?"

"I'll do my part if you do yours," I muttered.

The four of us were poised near the mouth of a mountain pass. Crags funneled down the path like a deep ravine. We flanked the road on both sides; me and Thrynn on the left, Vex and Niruin on the right. I was nestled in a wedge of rock high up, leaning on powdered snow. The vantage point hid me from below. My footing wasn't great, but I could still shoot. If anything was going to hamper my aim, the burn on my shoulder would. It felt crusty and stiff beneath my clothes, still painful as ever. Damned thing.

The sky was packed with grey hazy clouds. I wondered if dragons could fly high enough to hide behind them. Wasn't a stretch to think they might be roaming about the region. We were near the Jerall mountains but not technically in Skyrim. This was the wilderness frontier of Cyrodiil; an off-beaten trail miles away from the Silver Road north of Bruma. I hadn't expected to come back to the province so soon, though it didn't exactly feel like I was home.

The Thieves' Guild had been prepping for this heist around the day I joined up with them. Good timing, too. They needed another archer. Brynjolf wasn't ready for me to tackle _official_ assignments and Vex would've had me stay in the sewers, but I managed to argue my case. I can be very persuasive when I need to be. Besides, they were lucky to have me along. I was better with a bow than most of the guild's long standing members.

I'll admit it was a little tough finding the courage to travel again, knowing dragons were roaming the skies. But the thought of cowering in Riften till my scales turned leathery didn't exactly appeal to me. So I built up the nerve.

Niruin was set up on a flank opposite to me. The Wood Elf readied his bow. I grabbed mine leaning against the rocks and followed his lead.

There were three men with the caravan. Two steered the carriage while the other rode his own horse, a sellsword escort from the looks of it. There was nothing peculiar about their clothing, just fur and animal skins to keep out the cold. As they rode into our trap, I stared at the load in the back of their carriage, confused. It looked like a pile of long beams covered over with a tarp.

Were they disguising the shipment? Didn't seem _too_ far-fetched, but something was off.

Thrynn set the plan in motion. He stumbled out into the road right in front of the caravan, acting the part of a drunk with an empty bottle in his hand. The drawing horses came to halt and the riders exclaimed their surprise. Thrynn pretended to fall over and shuffled back on his feet, spitting curses at the men. It was a good performance, but not without its flaws. If you stopped to think about it, you'd realize that no one would actually be drinking out in the mountains. The men had good reason to be suspicious.

But the point wasn't for Thrynn to be convincing. All we needed was to take the men by surprise. And buy Vex the time she needed.

The caravan guard dismounted. He wasn't buying the act. He drew his sword and demanded that Thrynn step aside. A shadowy figure appeared behind him. Vex had snuck out of sight around the side of the carriage. Before the riders could spot her, she was at the sellsword's back and quickly disarmed him. Thrynn jumped in and seized the man, overpowering him handily. They say the Nord used to be a marauder with some bandit clan in the Pale. He had more meat on his bones than most.

Things picked up. The riders jumped down from their seats and almost slipped in the snow as they brandished their weapons. That was our cue. Niruin and I rose from our hiding spots and took aim.

"Eyes up, boys! That's far enough!" Niruin called out.

The riders whipped their attention to the rocks above and froze at the sight of our ambush. Vex reigned in the guard's timid horse and calmed it down, before walking slowly back and forth across the front of the carriage, carrying the sword she'd disarmed. Thrynn kept the caravan guard pinned down in the slush.

"I don't think I need to tell you you're outnumbered," she spoke coolly, before her voice became sharp like the crack of a whip. "Drop your weapons and face the cart."

Like dogs on a leash, the riders obeyed. Vex bound their hands. I smiled, thoroughly impressed. _These guild thieves are efficient!_ Within minutes the caravan was at our mercy. The plan was off to a rousing start.

Vex looked up at me. "New girl, get down here. Check the goods. Make sure everything's in order."

I passed a sideways glance to Niruin. He nodded, keeping his bow aimed down. That wood elf could handle the men if they tried anything. Better for him to keep to the crags than me; my aim wouldn't compare to his. He was a much better talent. For some reason Wood Elves and bows go together like forks and knives. Stereotype my ass. I knew an awful lot of people who'd been trained in archery by Bosmer. They must make a big deal of it in Valenwood.

Tsariba got taught by a Wood Elf, now that I think of it. She's the one who trained _me_. That Khajiit was a damn good shot. Fast too. If she nocked and loosed an arrow in two seconds, she'd tell you she was having an off day. Her feline reflexes were a sight to behold, climbing rooftops or slinking past guard patrols. She couldn't dodge the sword that killed her but I'm pretty sure she'd have brushed it off and boasted the tale later if she had. You know, to add to her legend. Tsariba was the kind of person who could walk in a room and just… _radiate_. Like sunshine, always spry and lively.

Most people like that annoy the crap out of me, but I made an exception for her. We used to get along so well. I still miss that cat.

I touched down on the ground and searched for a way to remove the carriage's tarp. It was fastened by ropes. I picked a knot and started cutting with my knife. One of the riders was nearby. Vex came over to keep an eye on him.

"What in Oblivion do you want with us!? We ain't got nothing worth stealing!" the rider on the other side cried out.

"Shut up. We'll be the ones deciding that," Vex growled.

"Damned thieves… You think you can take whatever you want," the man nearby swore.

"You're welcome to try and stop us," I chided, finishing one rope before moving to the next. The rider spat on the ground.

"Oh, just you wait boot," he said, "you'll get yours! I've got friends in the Legion. They're gonna' hear about this!"

I stopped cutting and looked over at the furious man, grinning in amusement.

"Good for you," I chirped, giving him a pat on the head. Every now and then I'd catch myself acting like Tsariba used to. She really rubbed off on me.

After a few seconds of sawing with my blade, the rope came undone. I eagerly lifted the tarp. My claws tapped on hard wood. I could hardly believe my eyes.

"Is this a joke!?" I snapped, turning to Vex. "What am I looking at!?"

"Huh? What are you on about?" the woman groaned. She quickly came beside me and saw the carriage's contents for herself. I thought for sure she'd pop a blood vessel. You could _feel_ the outrage boiling up inside her.

"Delvin, that stupid son of a bitch…!" she hissed.

~ooooo~

Delvin Mallory was one of the Thieves Guild's oldest and most valued members, equal in stature to Vex and Brynjolf. They were leaders without formal title. The guild's concept of hierarchy is mostly built around performance. Folks who bring in the most coin get to lead if they want to. Only the guildmaster has any official stature. Fences too, I guess, but that's just because they're fences. We kind of need them.

To cut a long story short, Delvin screwed us over. Our group returned to Riften a few days after the heist, empty handed. We took a hidden route that led to the city's underground sewers – the Ratway. That's where the guild keeps its base of operations. Their methods involve secrecy and discretion, as Brynjolf would tell you.

Honest shit? The place is a dump. A charming kind of dump, but still a dump. It's a dark and dank alcove where the thieves of Skyrim find safe haven.

From what I've been told, the Ratway used to be a city beneath the city. All sorts of seedy folks and merchants would crowd its canals and waterways. It was easy enough to imagine. The sewer system is massive, practically a labyrinth. But the Ratway was nearly barren now. You'd be lucky to trip on a skeever.

We arrived at the Ragged Flagon, a tavern built inside a cistern. It was the last remnant of the guild's supposed city, a checkpoint and lookout for the guild's inner chambers. Most of their muscle can be found loitering around. Slimy brick walls vault up in a dome to the pipe of a boarded well, with a large circular pool siting below, fringed with walkways. The tavern itself is on one far end with a wooden pier built over the pool to make extra space for seats and tables. They keep a furnace and plenty of candles lit. It's scenic in its own disgusting way.

No one from the surface comes down to the Flagon for spirits, though. Just members of the guild. Vex stormed over to Delvin sitting at a table and slammed her hands on it, her long platinum hair falling down over her face.

"Delvin, that shipment on the Cyrodiil frontier was worthless!" she barked. The old codger nearly fell out of his seat. I think he was nodding off. He returned a blank stare.

"That's impossible," the bald old Breton said. "I distinctly heard that lout in the tavern say it was a full shipment of furs. They should be worth a fortune."

I groaned, rubbing the scales on my snout. _You've got to be kidding me…_

Vex was livid. "You idiot! He meant fir_ trees_, not animal furs! It was a damn _logging_ caravan!"

Delvin's eyes grew wide with embarrassment. He caught the angry stares of Thrynn and Niruin standing close by.

"Oh my… Umm… you won't let the boss hear about this, will you?" The man cleared his throat, eyes darting off. Vex let out a sigh and turned to the three of us.

"You all go do whatever you want," she said, glaring back at Delvin. "_You're _coming with me. Right now."

Not one to incur Vex's wrath, Delvin followed the woman down a passage to the inner guild hall. I sat down in one of the Tavern's wooden chairs, unslinging my bow and resting it against a table. Its dark wood looked oily in the lamp-light. I'd have to return the bow soon – it was a loan from the guild. I still couldn't afford one for myself.

"I was hoping for a little more closure than that," Niruin muttered.

"Vex'll chew Delvin out. Nothin' for us to do but get back to business," Thrynn replied. Niruin stretched his arms lazily.

"Business can wait," he yawned. "I'm signing off for the night." The wood elf made for the guild's living chambers.

"Bah… I'm too pissed off to sleep," Thrynn said, before glancing my way. "Thinkin' I might go knock some heads up top. You interested?"

_As if… _

"I'll pass," I said.

The Nord shrugged and went on his way. I laid my head on the table, arms crossed beneath my chin, and heaved a sigh. Lisaa sure did a bang-up job touting the guild. How nice of her not to mention their late streak of _terrible luck_. I almost wished I'd stayed back in Cyrodiil, though I had my doubts that would've made a difference.

By this point I was ready to accept my part in some cosmic prank. It didn't matter where I went. I couldn't find a single band of thieves that wasn't riddled with incompetence or mediocrity somehow. Nothing ever went right.

_If you see something wrong…_

Damn it all. Even now, years later, my mother harps on. Her old lessons and proverbs were drilled into my head. I would always imagine myself at home again, arguing with her.

_…take control…_

Why tell me this? Isn't that what I've been _doing_? I've been searching for two years to find a group I can settle with! Don't preach to me about opportunity and society! I'm told to come inside, but nobody opens their door! My career as a thief is all I have. It's kept me alive! The world doesn't care how starving you are or how many friends you've lost. It expects you to _get by_. And it doesn't care how.

_…before control gets taken from you. _

Was guild somehow my responsibility? Was I supposed to be the one to fix it? To Oblivion with that. I couldn't even fix my own problems.

Even back then… I couldn't…

"Bad break, lass?" a voice suddenly spoke nearby. Brynjolf. He always caught me in my worst moods.

"Oh, of course not," I hissed, head still on the table. "I've always dreamed of building a log cabin."

"We'll set things straight with Delvin. That old man should have known better."

I sat up in my seat, eyeing the red-headed Nord.

"You know, when you told me this guild was hitting a 'rough patch,' I wasn't picturing a sinking ship," I said.

"Barely a few days in and that's your picture?" Brynjolf did not look pleased.

"Oh I'm sorry, should I be seeing pots of gold and rainbows?"

"Maybe you'd rather keep bellyaching like a child. This organization is far from dying, I can promise you that."

"Daedra and Divines, just look at this place! Your guild's got all the skill and talent in the world**,** but _nothing_ to show for it. Just what kind of operation are you running here?"

"One that's going to come around again," Brynjolf said, softening somewhat. "Look lass, this wasn't the first impression I hoped to give. How about we try something different tomorrow?"

My head thumped back on the table. "Different how?" I asked.

"We happen to have a few deadbeats here in Riften. They owe our organization some serious coin, and they've decided not to pay. How would you like to… explain to them the error of their ways?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Seriously? You're asking me to be some kind of debt collector?"

"Problem, lass?"

"We're thieves, dammit! Whatever happened to secrecy or discretion? If they won't give us the money, let's just go and take it from them!"

Brynjolf glared at me. His patience was past the point of being tested. I had to get a hold of my tongue.

"Look, I know when I'm being bitchy," I said, sitting up again. "Could you just explain why we need to do this?"

Brynjolf folded his arms. "Honestly, the debt is secondary here. What's more important is that we get the message across that we aren't to be ignored."

"So it's a control tactic."

"Exactly."

I could see why a guild of thieves might need that. They weren't going to get very far on good looks and a charming personality. Still, debt collecting? That seemed brutish. _Barnaxi would've fit right in with these people…_

"Who are the marks?" I asked.

"Bersi Honey-Hand, Haelga, and Keerava," Brynjolf replied. "Familiar with them?"

_Keerava…?_

"Yeah… I know who they are." Bersi was a small-time salesman, prayed a lot in the temple of Mara for Riften's corruption to go away. Haelga owned a boarding house. I learned from certain circles that she's a practitioner of the Dibellan arts, which is really just to say she whores around. As for Keerava…

"How much do they owe?"

"Six hundred each," Brynjolf said. "They know their numbers. You'll get a fair cut for doing this, lass, don't worry."

_Six hundred? Damn… That's more than I would have guessed._

"Method?"

"Up to you. So long as nobody gets killed."

"Right… Bad for business..."

"You've got a silver tongue and a fair bit of wit, lass. I'm confident you'll figure it out."

I stood up from my seat, brushing a bit of dirt off my tail.

"Fine. I'll do it," I said. "Give me a day or two. I need to talk to some people."

Brynjolf nodded, walking away to the guild's inner chamber. "You know where to find me when the job's done."

And that was that. From lumber theft to debt collecting. I decided I was done with the Ratway for the rest of the evening. After a change of clothes, I made for the quickest exit – a secret entrance in Riften's graveyard. The night was still young but the trip back from Cyrodiil left me tired. I actually missed the bed I had at the Bee and Barb. A drink and a good night's sleep sounded pretty good. I wound my way to the inn through the city streets.

_How is Keerava tied up in this debt business? Dammit, she and Talen are already hard pressed! _The other two deadbeats weren't well-off either, though. Nobody was. The guild didn't play favorites. They just took what they wanted from who they wanted to. It was all about power and money.

I'd actually hoped that coming to Riften would put things the way they used to be. Turn the clock back two years. But these thieves weren't the same. What was I expecting? You can't just go and replace all the people you ever cared about. I could never find another Tsariba, or Mindil, or Livia, or even that bastard Barnaxi. I had something with them, a better life. I'd never get that back. It was high time I accepted the truth.

Bersi and Haelga. Those two were going to get the short end of this stick. The caravan heist failed and I still had expenses to pay. I decided I'd get the money from them one way or another. But not from Keerava. Not Talen. They put a roof over my head after I'd lost everything. I owed them a debt, and I always repay my debts.

I would find another way to get the money for them. Somehow.


	27. Arc 2 - Chapter 3

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 3 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

Morning meditation. One of the many habits I still keep from my younger days, mostly out of necessity. If the body is not kept in shape it becomes frail. The mind is like this too – it must be kept from growing dull. Some meditate to cleanse themselves of thoughts and stresses, to exercise mental control, to simply _be_. I do it to preserve my sanity. Try learning to live under a constant threat of death, with the dead your only true companions. Then do it for as long as I have.

You will see. Ten years is a long time. Long enough to make a man rot.

Sitting cross-legged in the muck, eyes closed, I could not settle myself. My mind refused to calm. The events at Whiterun had shaken me into a restless state that refused to end.

I thought of the dragon I killed. The thrill of battling it had brought excitement, the likes of which I'd never experienced. It was as though every other foe I ever fought was somehow unworthy by comparison. Fighting that dragon stirred something in me. In the end I killed that dragon out of a sense of raw desire more than a sense of duty. I am no stranger to violence, but this frightened even me.

I relived that night in my mind over and over. Each time I heard the voice of my Thu'um. I heard the call of the Graybeards from High Hrothgar. But more than anything, I heard the words that were spoken to me in the midst of the dragon's memory. Menacing, ominous... What was I to make of them?

_Du los hin nunon dez… _

Devoured is your only fate.

I opened my eyes, peering out into the murkiness. A small school of longfins swam by into the sea grass, ignoring me as though I were a stone in the mud. Crawfish skimmed the floor for food. I filtered the sights through translucent membranes. The creatures of the lake were certainly not at rest. They kept themselves busy. _Perhaps today is a day to join them in this, _I thought. Anything to distract me from myself. I could meditate later. I filtered a gillful of water and pushed off of the lake bed with webbed feet towards the surface.

Daylight flared and consumed my vision. I adjusted my eyes to the colors of the forest and swam ashore. A pair of turtles sunbathing on a log retreated into the water as I walked past, dripping wet. The gentle morning breeze became bitter cold against my damp scales. My body shivered disapprovingly.

_Waxuuthi... I will never grow used to this climate._

After a quick redress, I continued on through the autumn forests of the Rift. The lake widened into a river heading east. I decided to follow it from further inland. My final destination remained unchanged: Solstheim. Getting there from Skyirm's coast had been my plan since entering the province. Even with the events at Whiterun threatening that plan, there was still a chance of success. I would travel north to the city of Windhelm and attempt to reach the island by trade vessel. It would not be the first time I ever stowed away on a ship, though the first time I wouldn't have to kill anyone aboard. A thing to be thankful for.

Solstheim was Morrowind territory, home to a small settlement of Dunmer. I remained doubtful that they would accept me into their community even if I proved my usefulness. Strong is the bitter hatred between their kind and mine. But if rejected, at least on the island I might finally be left alone, far from civilization. There would be no one for me to help anymore, but no one for me to harm. A state of neutrality. Peace. I would be out of the way and eventually forgotten.

No… Pardon me. I speak without thinking. I would be remembered in Black Marsh. Vilified. My legacy would become a story told to frighten children. Okan-Zeeus the mad traitor. An enemy to the Hist and the great An-Xileel. The very thing hatchlings would be raised to not become.

They would withhold the truth of Okan-Zeeus. That he was _driven_ mad by following his orders. That he lost his life and everything he held dear trying to do what he thought was right. But that would ruin the story's charm, would it not?

No one wants a sympathetic villain.

My mind felt like a mudslide. The more I tried to stop brooding, the deeper my depression sank. Sounds of leaves crunching beneath my feet became a monotonous white-noise filling the space between thoughts. I stopped paying attention to where I was walking. Beneath the azure sky and vibrant forest canopy, my senses no longer registered.

_What are you doing with yourself? Is this truly the river you're meant to swim? You cannot ignore what's happened to you, what's happening around you. These dragons are a threat to all…_

This went on for too long.

"Hello? Who's there?" someone asked.

I snapped out of my trance.

Standing away from me in a clearing was a Nord boy. He looked to be an adolescent, with a mop of brown hair and simple clothes. He was pulling along a cluster of small logs freshly cut from a copse of trees. They hung beneath a high-wheeled skidder.

I could not hide myself fast enough before he saw me. The boy jumped, throwing off the skidder's rope harness.

"Stay back! You'd better not be here to make trouble!" he uttered with nervous defiance, brandishing a woodcutting axe. "I'll fight you if I have to!"

I gawked at the boy._ Xhuth! How could I have been so careless?_ Had I been minding my surroundings, I would have noticed him earlier.

"Calm yourself," I said, hands held out yieldingly, "I am not here to hurt you." I kept a wide-eyed expression on my face, lest my reptilian features accidentally express hostility. "I'm a nomad, passing through these lands. You have nothing to fear from me. What is your name?"

No reply. The boy remained apprehensive.

"That's… a lot of logs you're trying to pull," I said sheepishly.

"You're not taking any of them."

"I had no intentions to."

"They're for our mill…"

"Young one, I am not here to steal from you," I insisted. "If I had truly wanted to, I would have done so already."

The boy did not avert his eyes. He had every reason to be wary of me. I was unsure what reputation Argonians had in the region, but my appearance could certainly be mistaken for a marauder or a mercenary.

"Who are you?" the boy asked.

"A nomad, as I said before."

"I mean what are you called?"

I refused to answer, curling the end of my tail apologetically. Force of habit. Land striders never notice such things.

"You asked me for _my _name," he muttered.

"And you did not tell it to me."

There was a pause.

"We can always skip introductions," I said, admiring the loaded skidder. "You look like you have been pulling those logs for some time."

"Not _that _long…"

"How much further do you have to go?"

"Down to the river."

My brow furrowed. "That is still a good distance from here, is it not?"

The boy looked at the ground. His tired posture answered 'yes.' I felt some pity for the young Nord. _Did he cut down all of those trees by himself? How long did that take?_

"Perhaps this one can be of help. I would not mind pulling that contraption for you."

The young Nord perked up. "Really?"

"Certainly. I see no reason why not."

"I… I don't know…"

"You do not trust me. I understand," I sighed, smiling. "Maybe we can come to an arrangement." The boy regarded me nervously as I reached for the scabbard strap on my belt. I held up Xehtasken in its sheath. "How about this? I pull your wood and you carry my sword. If I try anything, you'll be able to defend yourself. Does that seem fair?"

"You'd give me your sword?"

"I would _loan _it to you. It is probably worth more than those logs of yours."

There was a glimmer of excitement in the boy's eyes that quickly went away. He became thoughtful, indecisive. It goes without saying, perhaps, but giving the boy my sword was a hollow gesture of goodwill. Even without Xehtasken, or any of my weapons, he would never be able to defend himself against me. The thought of how easily I could kill him left me sick.

"You are free to refuse my help," I said. "I will leave without another word."

"No… I _do_ want the help," the boy groaned.

"Xhu. Then let us be on our way."

I walked over to the boy and handed him my weapon. He took the blade from my hands, surprised at its weight. I gave a testing tug on the skidder's harness before throwing it over my chest. Oddly it was fit for a person. To my knowledge such work is usually carried out by horses.

"Lead. I will follow," I said.

The boy nodded, pointing. "The mill's this way."

And so I trailed behind the young Nord, deferring to his direction. Pulling the skidder was arduous labor. Yet it felt _good_. Surprisingly good. I was putting my mind toward a single simple task, legs plodding along, one in front of the other, as I moved against the logs' resistance. Footsteps that had been mere noise before became a steady, soothing rhythm. All the worries clouding me seemed distant. The physical exertion was clearing my head.

I relished moments like this. I could never tell if I made progress eluding the An-Xileel's pursuit. The fruits of my efforts did not become clear until another blade was at my throat. Yet with this, I could see where I had come from and where I was going. A clear objective and a certain result. No questions. No complications. Just _action_.

But by the Hist… That skidder…

"This is quite heavy," I grunted, becoming visibly tired. Either I sorely overestimated my endurance or this boy underestimated his. I will confess I wanted to believe the latter.

"You offered to help," he shrugged.

"Indeed I did… I would have given it more thought had I known better," I chuckled, glancing at him. "Do you normally cut this many logs at once? So far from the river bank?"

"They're elms. My mother got an order for elm wood yesterday. Right when we ran out."

"Hmm... Mother, you say? Who else works the mill with you?"

"It's just us," the boy said dispiritedly.

"No other relatives? Hired workers?"

"No. My father used to work, but he's gone."

"Gone?"

"We don't know what happened to him."

"I see..."

The boy wore his tired look again. I had wondered why he was out pulling so many logs by himself. He was filling the role of his absent father, lumberjacking alone. A hard responsibility for one so young. The world has harbored many in such straits. I found myself pondering about this father and what circumstance would bring him to abandon his family.

_As though you are one to judge, _I thought to myself bitterly.

A clearing in the forest opened up, ground speckled with tree stumps. In the distance stood a lumber mill built by the riverside, water frisking on its wheel. A cobbled stone house rested further inland. Tending to a pen of chickens was a bright haired woman wearing men's work clothes.

"Gralnach!" she called out upon our arrival. "Who's this you've brought with you?"

"Fair tidings, land strider," I called in turn, coming close enough for us to speak in normal voices. "Forgive my intrusion. I offered to help with your son's work." I heaved off the rope harness, panting.

"Forgive you? I would _pay_ you if I had the coin to spare," the boy's mother replied in a thick northern accent.

"That's quite alright," I said, "but I appreciate the thought."

The woman began inspecting the skidder's load. Gralnach followed her eyes.

"These were the only ones I could chop down. I know they're young," the boy said concernedly. "Will they be enough?"

"Barely," she muttered. "We'll make do with this."

"I can start cutting, then?"

"There's a large pile at the stand that needs finishing first. Go get started on that. We have a long day ahead of us."

The young Nord started off. I beckoned him back. "Hold there! I believe you still have something of mine!" The boy grimaced, realizing he was carrying my sword. He came back and returned Xehtasken to me, before heading off to begin his next task.

I observed the woman. There were heavy bags beneath her eyes.

"Keeping your son busy?" I remarked, re-strapping my sheath.

"Gralnach is soon to be a man," she huffed. "It's time he learns how a man has to work."

"And what of yourself…?"

"Day by day, lizard," she sighed. "Name's Grosta. Thank you again for helping my boy. It might go to his head, but I'm glad his day will be a little easier."

I nodded. "Your son told me about this place. You two are the only ones here?"

Grosta glanced over at a woman by the house, wearing chainmail with purple cloth. A guard from the city of Riften. She was watching us idly.

"But you are the only _workers_," I said.

"Aye."

"How long have you been running this mill with only you and your son?"

"Long enough to know we're worn to the bone," the woman replied, giving a sarcastic smile. The more I looked at her, the more tired she seemed. Just like the boy. They were both badly overworked.

"Do you think you can _keep_ running this mill?" I asked.

Grosta lingered on her response, before something finally caved. She frowned angrily. "No. It's damn near impossible. We're having trouble making ends meet. At this rate we won't last more than a few seasons."

"Then what?"

Grosta shook her head.

"By Ysmir, I don't know. We'll just have to sell this old place. Try to find another line of work that can keep us alive."

I could hear the plea in her words, buried beneath a façade of sour determination.

"Your son told me that your husband disappeared…"

The woman was quick to jeer. "Ha! He's the bastard responsible for all this. I never want to see his ugly face again."

"Sounds as though there's more to this story," I said.

Grosta walked over to a small vegetable garden beside her house, grabbing a wood-shaft hoe rested against a fence. She was quick to divulge the details of her predicament. I wondered if anyone had ever taken the time to hear her plight.

"It happened a month ago," she began. "Liefnarr said he was going east towards the border of Morrowind to trade some of our wood and grain..."

"And he never came back," I finished for her. She spat on the ground.

"I've waited and waited. Probably shacked up with some elven whore. Good riddance to him, I say."

"You don't think something else might have happened to him?"

"Men are pigs. They all want the same thing," the woman protested, insensitive to the 'man' standing before her. I ignored the implication. "Anyway, what can I do? I can't leave the mill, and the guards won't bother themselves searching the whole east for one lousy man. If only I knew where he was, I'd give him a piece of my mind."

"These people he went to trade with… Who were they?" I inquired.

"He said that some men had been stopping by local mills and farms, promising high prices for goods. They'd pay double what we'd get at the markets."

"Were these men credible? What did they need the goods for?"

"I don't even know if they were real! I'm sure it was some clever ruse Leifnarr came up with. Gave the man an excuse to leave with a large stock of our supplies. It only worsened our setbacks." I watched the woman as she tilled the soil of her garden, sweating in the heat of the sun.

"Did your husband mention any names? Locations?"

The woman planted her tool in the ground and held my gaze.

"The traders were staying in a place called Stonefalls Hollow. I'd never heard of it. All I know is that it's somewhere along the Velothi mountains, on the path to Windhelm."

"Heading north…?" I said with some surprise, tail swaying gently. I would travel that route on the way to Windhelm.

My heart told me to go and search for her husband. It was along the path I planned to take. Surely I could manage a detour. But I remembered my decision to leave Ivarstead behind. I was going to Solstheim for a reason.

One who bears death has no place among the living.

There was no time for distractions. I would not get involved…

_…and abandon everything I stand for?_

A cold truth whispered in my thoughts, still and small but sharp as a sword. I promised long ago to be a wind of change for the people in this world. It was my final act of defiance toward the An-Xileel. I was tired and weary of running, giving every reason why I needed to leave Tamriel behind. But my resolve still held strong, refusing to let go. It was my hope. The reason I still lived.

_This woman has had no relief since her husband disappeared. You see it in her eyes, Okan-Zeeus. You know what that feels like, to be trapped by your circumstances. How can you walk away knowing that you could have done something for her?_

My mind slowly began to slide.

_Is this how you repay those who died for your freedom?_

I broke past the melancholy.

"Would it be of any help to you if I visited this Stonefalls Hollow?" I asked.

Grosta turned and glared at me, puzzled.

"You would do that?"

"It is the least of all things I can do," I said, hatching an idea. "I will write back to you what I find. The letter will not be signed, but you will know it came from me."

"It wasn't enough to help my son, was it? You care this much, lizard?"

"I care enough."

"But why?"

I smiled a wide Argonian smile. "I am a wanderer. One who drifts, like a leaf in the river's flow. I see the things that people endure, their struggles and hardships. I see them even when others do not. And I have never been one for standing idly by."

Grosta did not speak her thanks out loud, but I could tell she was grateful. Her brief smile spoke for her. She resumed her work tilling soil.

"I hope you do find Leifnarr," she said. "Give him a message for me, will you? Tell him he can go straight to Oblivion. He's no longer welcome here."

"We shall see." I rubbed the spines on my chin. "I will have to figure out where this Hollow is, first…"

"Afraid I can't help you with that. Someone in Riften might know. You could try asking the farmers or townsfolk."

Riften. I did not want to have to visit another city. Too many eyes, too many witnesses. Given the state of things, though, I was already easy to track down. I have never let a fear of personal danger stand between me and my goals. I wanted to help this woman.

_Let whatever comes to me for_ _this come,_ I thought to myself. _I will not be swayed by my fear of the An-Xileel. _The legacy of Okan-Zeeus was tarnished, but I would see his story end in triumph.

It would all be over soon enough once I reached Solstheim.

_If_ I reached Solstheim.

"Very well. Riften it is," I said. "I will learn what I can there."

Resigning, I set off toward Skyrim's eastern city in search of answers.


	28. Arc 2 - Chapter 4

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 4 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

Ahhh! You know what's better than traveling? Traveling when the weather's fair! No clouds, no rain, just the wind and the sun on your skin. Life's simple pleasures.

I was off on the road to Whiterun. Word came to Riverwood that the city got attacked by a dragon. They managed to kill it, thank the gods. Couldn't bear the thought of another settlement getting burned to the ground. I went to investigate the aftermath. Maybe, just maybe, I could learn something that'd help me make more sense of Helgen. My return to Cyrodiil would stay on hold for a while.

Carrying the sack of my family's old belongings like a peddler, I followed the roads and river brook that lead to the city gates. Couldn't have asked for a better morning! Blue butterflies fluttered over flowers and tundra cotton. Sweet scents of mead and honey drifted in the air from a brewery. In the distance a windmill spun gently, looming over a quiet vegetable farm. Two workers were out in the fields, running for their lives from a raging giant.

A giant.

"Shore's bones!" I startled.

It was tearing up the farm with a massive club, wrecking crops, barrels and animal pens! Couldn't tell if the day'd gotten worse or better. I dropped my bag and ran to the scene. The gangly brute must've been eight feet tall, with a thick mangy beard and crude garbs of mammoth fur. A pair of guards led the farmers to safety and hunkered behind a brick fence, aged to the point where it sunk into the ground.

One of the guards started off for the city. I crouched down beside the other who stayed.

"Damn! Never seen a giant throw a tantrum before!" I exclaimed, glancing at the guard. "You?"

He stared at me for a few seconds, eyes hidden behind a helm of steel.

"Are you here to help, kinsman?" he asked.

"No, I'm fleeing for my life."

The man didn't care for my sarcasm.

"I won't turn down an extra blade," he said. "We just have to wait for Rolf and the rest of the south wall guard..."

"Waiting? Who has time for waiting?" I retorted. "That farm is somebody's livelihood! Somebody's home!"

"It'll take more than two men to save it."

"Come on, don't be a milk drinker," I scoffed, slapping the guard on his back. "It's one giant. We can distract him till help arrives – keep the crops and animals safe!"

"I nearly died fighting a dragon, kinsman! I'm not dying for a field of cabbage!"

I frowned at the guard. "Well _I'm _going. You gonna sit here while a brother Nord fights the giant alone?"

Hearing that, the man swore under his breath and brought a longbow to bear. I knew he'd come around. No son of Skyrim backs down from a fight. I vaulted over the wall and drew my greatsword.

"Woah, hold on there!" the guard exclaimed, seeing Angi's bow on my back. "What's the matter? You got no arrows!?"

"I've got _this_," I said, gripping my weapon. "That's all I need. You handle the archery. I'll give him something to swing at."

"That sounds like a really bad idea!"

"Oh, trust me," I replied with a smirk, "I always have bad ideas."

I rushed out into the open field. The guard stayed behind, taking aim. That giant was tearing up a coop of chickens, sending wood, straw, and feathers flying everywhere. The guard loosed an arrow. It landed square in the giant's back. He grunted, glaring over his shoulder.

"Yeah, that's right!" I goaded, waving the giant to me. "Come here! Try and break _this_, you big ugly bastard!"

The giant stretched out a long, low grumble. He slowly wound up a tempo of steps, tramping toward me with gaping leaps, club raised overhead. I swear to you the ground _shook _with every stride it made.

_Ho boy, _I thought to myself, _he looks a lot bigger up close…_

The fiend swung down hard to the ground, throwing up dirt as I dodged out of the way. The force behind that club could've easily crushed the bones in my body. No chance I'd block any blows in this fight. An arrow flew and struck the giant in his chest. That was two hits. Didn't look like they fazed him much, though. A third arrow whizzed by my ear, making me flinch as it narrowly missed my head and sunk into the giant's arm.

"_Hey_! Aim for the giant, not _me_!" I hollered back. "You trying to – woah!"

A massive palm swung to knock me over. I ducked a hair's width under it and gambled a thrust, jabbing the tip of my blade into the giant's chest. It grunted in pain and backed away. I recovered my footing, laughing in the face of near death.

"Hahaha! You like dancing close to the fire!?"

The guard landed another hit on the giant's collar. It's body was bristled with about a half dozen arrows. Damn hardy, that one. It looked enraged, ignoring any pain it felt. I think it knew it was going to die. No deadlier foe than one who's backed into a corner.

The giant started swinging with vigor, which left me hopping around like a rabbit. You know how hard it is to keep your feet fast in steel plates? I clenched my jaws, trying to find a way into the giant's space without getting flattened. Another arrow punctured its chest. Only it wasn't from the guard. I looked behind me. A pair of warriors had come to join the fight.

"What are you waiting for!?" a woman called out, lowering her bow. "The legs! Go for its legs!"

"What?" I stammered, looking back at the giant's boney lower limbs. They were tall and slender, like birch trees waiting for the woodcutting axe. "Oh! The legs, got it! Good plan!"

But how was I supposed to get close?

Well, turns out that was the easy part. A burly dark haired man wielding a greatsword of his own rushed the giant. He was a big guy, bigger than _me_. I followed his lead. The two of us circled about at different angles. If the giant struck at one, the other had an opening. The fiend couldn't fend us both off. It was big and strong but slow on the draw. I waited for the giant to lash at the man and charged. With a powerful two-handed swing I slammed my blade into the back of its leg, cleaving half-way through the bone. The giant dropped to its knees with a heavy thud.

And that was that. The burly man brought down his sword and sliced the giant's head clean off, execution style. Its headless corpse slumped in a heap. I heaved out a breath, heart still pounding from the thrill of the fight, and grinned at the man who fought beside me. He grinned back. Seemed like one of those strong silent types.

"Well met! Glad you both could join the fun." I rubbed my sore ankle. "Augh… Can't say I make a habit of frisking with giants."

"They're best fought from a distance, you know," the woman from before said to us both as she came near.

_Trolls blood, but that voice sounds…_

I craned to the side and gawped.

_…attractive!_

Rich auburn hair. Fierce, grey eyes. A prime physique. Gods, who _was _this!? A woman after Shor's own heart? I was smitten. She looked as fierce as she was beautiful. Sure, she had a masculine air to her features; a chiseled jawline, rough skin. But the way she carried herself, graceful and confident… That's more captivating than any soft face.

"Were you hoping to bring down a giant all by yourself?" she asked me.

"Ha… ah, not really," I said, wiping my brow, "but I sure wasn't gonna pass up the chance to fight one!"

"Oh, I'm not criticizing. I would have done the same," she replied. "Glory only awaits those who triumph."

"Aye. The best victories are always hard fought." A grin widened on my face. "Sounds like you don't settle for small game."

Her expression became emotionless.

"Depends on the prey," she replied, "I find often that size rarely matters."

I walked right into that one.

The woman's eyes glossed over me before fixing on something rested at my side. I tried to follow her line of sight. What was she looking at? My hand?

The ring of Hircine?

"Hey, so uh… who are you all anyway?" I blurted, burying the ring in my folded arms. "You with the Jarl's guard?"

Speaking of guards, the one who helped me fight the giant came to address the woman.

"Hail, Companions!" he greeted, raising a fist to his heart, "I knew Rolf would send for aid. Didn't think I was worth a rescue from _you_, though."

"Think nothing of it. We go where the hunt is," she said. "Those soft guts wouldn't have been much help to you."

"Wait a minute… Companions?" I startled, eyes darting between the two warriors. "_The_ Companions!?"

The woman looked at me. "Heard of us, eh?"

"_Heard of you!? _You're the warriors of Ysgramor! Gods, I completely forgot! I'm in Whiterun!"

That meant the home of Jorrvaskr, the Companions' mead hall. When I was a lad, my ma would tell stories about the Companions. All the nights I'd beg her for one more song or battle…

I grew up on tales of men like Skjor, Kodlak, and Askar the Harbinger. True warriors of valor. Their traditions stretch back to the days of Skyrim's first settlers from the continent of Atmora. The Companions are to Skyrim what knights are to Cyrodiil. The stuff of boyhood dreams and true life legend.

Ysmir's beard! I'd fought alongside the Companions! Against a giant! For as old as I was, the child in me whooped with excitement, wishing he could run home to tell his mother what he'd done.

"I take it you're not an outsider?" the woman remarked with curiosity. I was falling head over heels for that voice of hers. She hadn't smiled even once, though. I started wondering if she could.

"Nope," I avowed, chin held high. "I'm as Nordly as a Nord can get. Just been… traveling around. First time I've come back to Skyrim in years."

"Looks like you're getting a proper welcome, then. I hope the rest of your travels will be as fulfilling," she replied, turning to her comrade. "Come on, Farkas. The Jarl's men can clean this mess."

She set off to leave. That's when the burly man spoke up.

"Aela, wait," Farkas said, turning to me. "What brings you to Whiterun, stranger?"

"_Now_ you decide to speak?" the woman quipped.

"I… heard something about a dragon attack," I said, surprised by the question. "Came here to find answers."

"To what?" Aela asked.

"Anything. Helgen was destroyed by a dragon. That makes two attacks I know of. I need to find out if there's a connection, besides the obvious…"

"The dragon we fought acted like any predator from the wild," the woman said. "There may not have been a special reason for the attack."

I looked away. "Maybe I just _want_ a special reason… I want to make sense of Helgen. My family died there."

Aela rested a hand on her hip. "Ah. So it's vengeance you're looking for."

"Only if there's someone responsible. Or some_thing_."

"You would fight a dragon?" Farkas asked.

"For my family? Yeah," I said, "I'd fight one gladly."

"Assuming you actually stood a chance," the woman said. I'm convinced she thought me a fool. The man, on the other hand, had a different opinion.

"Aela. I like this one," Farkas said. "He should come back with us. He'd make a good Companion."

_What did he just say!? _

Let me tell you, I wasn't ready for that. It came out of nowhere. Aela raised an eyebrow at her stalwart shield-brother.

"Really? You think he's worth it?"

The woman stopped for a moment to inspect me again – a fresh assessment, in light of her friend's suggestion.

"Hmm… I suppose we've taken worse. You did handle yourself well," she said. "So? You heard him. What do you have to say?"

I'm supposed to speak when asked a question. You'd have thought I didn't know that.

"Are you telling me… I can _join you_?" I eventually said.

"No," Aela spoke flatly. "Not for us to say. You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane, up at Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can tell your worth."

_Kodlak? Is he the Harbinger now?_ I supposed he'd gotten pretty old, huh? I'd have been a young boy when I first heard of him. He was a big name among the Companions back then.

But never mind that! I'd all but forgotten the reason I came to Whiterun in the first place. The day had suddenly soared beyond my wildest imagination. I was invited to Jorrvaskr to be a Companion! That… that just doesn't happen! Not to people like me! Or so I thought.

"What are we standing here for, then!? Lead on!" I exclaimed with boyish enthusiasm. The two warriors exchanged looks and made for the city gates. I followed close behind.

I'd always wanted to see Jorrvaskr! A trip from Helgen wouldn't have been grueling but we never had an excuse to travel. Come to think of it, there was a lot of Skyrim I hadn't seen. _What if I get accepted? I'll get to travel all across the province!_ If only my family were still around. They would have been ecstatic to hear about all this. I can picture it now. I'd walk through the front door, dust my feet off on that old goat-skin rug, rush to the kitchen and find my uncle cooking some…

_I left my bag back on the road, didn't I?_

"Ah, wait! I just remembered! I left something, uh…" I spun back, pointing, "back there… somewhere…" I started trotting in reverse as I spoke. "You two go ahead! Go on! I'll catch up!" The Companions watched me jog away, puzzled.

_Great first impression, _I groaned to myself. I knew after that moment that I was in for a rough time. I'd have to prove my worth to the Companions. No easy feat. But I would try! Oh you bet I would! _Especially_ around that woman, Aela. I wasn't done with her. A shame I didn't have much in the way of finesse.

Bah, I'm more substance over style anyway.

~ooooo~

The first thing I took stock of when I stepped into Jorrvaskr was a huge pit of burning coals, a center piece to herald warmth and relaxation. The hall had finished wood-work, lush red carpets, tables lined with silver dining ware, elaborate banners and weapons on display. Walls were decorated with shields, animal pelts, and taxidermy heads of impressive game. The room smelled of sweat mead.

That was all the first thing. The second thing I noticed was two people beating the cheese out of each other.

"Just keep swinging!"

"Watch the eyes!"

"Twelve Septims on the girl! Look at that speed!"

Ringed by a small crowd of barking spectators – fellow Companions or maid servants, if I had to wager – a woman and a Dark Elf were locked in a fistfight, spitting curses and swinging their knuckles at each other like there was no tomorrow.

"Those two at it again…?" Aela said beside me. I couldn't keep a smile off my face. I'd spent all of five seconds in Jorrvaskr and I already loved the place.

"Oof. That one's got a chip on her shoulder," I said, tilting my head to get a better view of the girl in the scrap. "You see that? Nobody throws a punch like that unless they're trying to break a jaw. What'd that elf do?"

"It's anybody's guess," Aela sighed. "Ysgramor himself wouldn't have the patience to deal with all the rabble around here."

She didn't seem to mind the entertainment, though. The woman went off to join the crowd, eyeing me as I followed.

"Shouldn't you be going somewhere?" she said.

I pouted. "What, I can't stay and watch?"

"Your choice. But I wouldn't waste time. Kodlak tends to keep himself busy."

"Right… um…" I looked around. "Where do I…?"

"The living quarters," she replied, gesturing her head toward the opposite side of the hall, "Downstairs. He should be there."

"Great! I'll be back."

Heading over to and down the steps, I tried to shake off the tingling in my spine. It bothered me. _Come on, man! You face down a giant and THIS is what scares you?_ No way to make light of it, really. Kodlak Whiteman was a warrior of renown. Or, well, he was in my youth. Sometimes the impressions you get when you're young, though, stick with you the longest. What was I compared to him? Compared to anybody else in Jorvaskr? That man Farkas seemed to want me around. Suppose I had _that_ going for me.

I passed open rooms with beds and dresser drawers down the length of a long, candle lit hallway. It was an arched tunnel of brick and wood. Very quiet. The carpet and furniture made things homely, but the lower floor felt more like a dungeon compared to the hall up top. I peeked into each room as I passed. Nobody around, 'cept for a wrinkly old maid sweeping the floor. I cleared my throat, coming to a closed doorway at the end of the stretch.

"But I still hear the call of the blood…"

"We all do. It is our burden to bear. But we can overcome."

Sounded like a conversation was going on the other side. I leaned in closer. I could hear two men, the first one younger than the other. One of them was probably Kodlak. Probably.

_How long are they gonna be in there?_

"You have my brother and I, obviously. But I don't know if the rest will go along quite so easily."

_Should I knock on the door?_

"Leave that to me."

_Yeah. Let's knock on the door. _

I knocked. The door swung open on its hinges. It hadn't been shut properly. I stared blankly as the two men turned their eyes to me.

_Dammit._

"Who are you supposed to be?" the young man asked. He looked an awful lot like Farkas. The older man had a thick beard almost the length of his head and long grey hair tossed back. Both seemed to have just gotten back from some trip, wearing underclothing with suits of grey steel armor set aside.

"A stranger has come to our hall," the old one said. Though on in years, he looked robust. The man was definitely Kodlak. I set my bag down by the doorframe.

"Sorry! Didn't mean to interrupt your heartfelt chat, here. The door wasn't closed."

"Looked pretty closed to me," the Farkas lookalike grunted.

"Well… sure. But it wasn't."

The man folded his arms, a clear lack of amusement on his face.

"Hmph. So another ambitious visitor?" he snorted, more to the old man than to me. "You think you can just wander in here and join us?"

"What makes you say that's what I'm here for?" I said for argument's sake.

"It is painfully obvious, lad," Kodlak replied, relaxing in his seat. "But you're here now. Come in. We were just finishing."

I stepped into the room. There were maps scrawled over a desk and shelves cluttered with books. The two men sat by an end table, treating themselves to a bottle of alto wine. A troll's skull rested on a stand near the doorway among display cases filled with other trophies.

"You must be Kodlak Whitemane," I said, smiling. "I've heard a lot about you."

"All good, I trust," the old man replied, returning a smile of his own. "Who might you be?"

"Reinhardt. Just call me Reinhardt."

"Well then, Reinhardt, what brings you to Jorrvaskr?"

"Ah, right. I suppose… I'm here to see if you'll take me. As a Companion. There was a giant destroying a farm just outside the city. I helped two of your fellows fight it…"

"Giants are docile," the young man interrupted. "They would never bother anyone near the walls unless provoked. Why was it attacking?"

"Beats me. Does it matter? After we killed it, I was invited here by someone named Farkas… along with a woman, Aela. They'll vouch for my story."

"My _brother _invited you here?" the man said in disbelief.

I beamed. "So he_ is_ your brother! I thought you two looked alike."

"This is Vilkas," Kodlak said, cutting off the man before he could speak further. "He and his brother are two of our finest warriors. If Farkas is willing to vouch for your presence, that speaks a great volume." He beckoned with a wave of his hand. "Here, let me have a look at you."

I came closer, sweating as the Harbinger studied me intensely. Those eyes of his were strong and deep. He was the alpha-male all right. And I was the whelp trying to squeeze into the pack.

_What happens after this? What does a man have to do to join the Companions?_

Kodlak shuffled in his seat.

"Hmm… Yes. Perhaps. A certain strength of spirit," he said. "I think you would fit in well around here."

_Wait… that's it!? Does that mean I'm in!? _

I don't know what I was expecting.

Vilkas stirred. "Master, you're not truly considering accepting him?"

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas," Kodlak retorted with a mildly scolding tone, "and last I checked, we have some empty beds in Jorrvaskr for those with a fire burning in their hearts."

The young man wilted. "Apologies… But perhaps this isn't the time…"

"I cannot picture a better time than now," the old man said. "In case you've forgotten, dragons have returned. The need for able warriors will be greater than ever. Trained or raw, it makes no difference who steps into our hall."

Kodlak gave me a firm faced glare.

"What matters is their heart."

"And their arm," Vilkas added insistently.

"Of course," the Harbinger smiled again. "How are you in battle, boy?"

"Oh… I can hold my own," I replied. "But I'm sure there's plenty I could learn from all of you. Kinda exciting, actually."

"That's the spirit," Kodlak said. He glanced at the young man. "Vilkas, take this one out to the yard and see what he can do."

Vilkas complied, standing up from his seat. He brushed past me and went down the hall, minding me about as much as a mammoth minds a skeever. _Somebody's a grouch today, _I thought to myself as I caught up beside him.

"Hey. We don't have a problem, do we?" I asked.

"The old man thinks you've got something worthwhile to offer," Vilkas said as we walked. "I won't be the one who questions his judgment."

"At least give me the chance to prove myself," I replied. "Nine willing, maybe I'll surprise you."

The two of us went on in awkward silence. I don't like awkward silences.

"So…" I started.

Vilkas sighed. "Figured you would have questions. Can they wait until after we're done?"

"Did you fight the dragon that attacked the city?" I asked anyway.

"Yes," the man said, "as did most of us here in Jorrvaskr. Those who weren't off elsewhere in Skyrim."

"Tell me, how did you kill it?"

"Wasn't I who killed it, new blood. That glory wasn't taken by any Companion."

_New blood? Ysmir, I really did_ _make it, didn't I…_

"Who, then?"

Vilkas looked ready to say something, before he stopped and said something else.

"It was the Dragonborn."

"What…!?" I exclaimed softly, wide-eyed. "The Dragonborn was here!?"

"He killed the beast and took its soul. I watched him do it with my own eyes. That was moments before the Greybeards called for him."

"By Shor! That's incredible!" I said, filled with awe and mirth at the thought. "Did you speak with the man? What was he like?"

"We didn't converse much... He seemed unwavering, reckless even, charging into battle without regard for himself. Beyond that I cannot speak for his personality." Vilkas paused. "But he _was_ passionate, and fought against the dragon bravely."

The man gave me a funny look as we reached the stairs. "You might want to discard your thought of him as a 'man,' by the way."

"Eh? Why?" I asked. "Was he a woman?"

"No, that's not..." Vilkas rummaged for the right words. "I mean the Dragonborn wasn't _of men_. He was an Argonian."

I stopped. A bubble of laughter upped out of me.

"Ha! Ah, for a second there I thought you said that the _Dragonborn_… was a…"

Vilkas kept a straight face. My mirth became bewilderment.

"Woah now… You mind, uh, running that by me one more time?"


	29. Arc 2 - Chapter 5

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 5 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

Burglaries go better after sundown. The theft becomes less about your good timing and more about control and awareness. It demands a lot of skill. Check your footing. Balance your weight. Roll every step from heel to toe. Breathe steadily. All it takes is one mistake, one noise, and the whole job falls apart.

High risk stuff. And I love every bit of it. It wasn't the money that drew me to thievery. It was the thrill. The challenge.

With my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I crept through the brick house of a Nord named Bolli, owner of Riften's Fishery and among the city's well-to-do. He was going to give a generous 'donation' to pay for Keerava's debt tonight. There were plenty of other places I could've ransacked for coin, but of all the people who'd miss the money he would the least. His business was profitable. Besides, I had other reasons for the preference. He lacked the political pull of other wealthy residents like Maven Black-Briar, the kind that would have me strung up if my plans backfired.

Not that they were going to. The heist was plenty easy. I slipped in through a second floor window and combed the place methodically. I didn't know where Bolli kept his earnings – he's a smart business man, so he wouldn't stash it all in his house – but there was bound to be enough that I needed lying around somewhere. I eventually found a small musty safe in the basement with plenty of money inside to satisfy the debt. I snagged a light purse filled with coins of ten and fifty denomination, over seven hundred Septims altogether.

Minding each slow step along creaking floor boards, I snuck back up to the bedroom. A couple was sleeping soundly beneath the blankets on their bed. One of them was Bolli's wife, a Bosmer named Nivenor. The other sod wasn't Bolli. Some other man I didn't try to recognize. Bolli was out on business in Ivarstead. A faint breeze blew through the window as I opened it. The night was quiet. I climbed out and gently shut the panes behind me.

Instead of heading back down to the ground, though, I quietly scaled up to the roof.

An aurora was out. Its deep purple glow ribboned across the stars. When it first appeared in the sky, I didn't know what it was. I'd never seen northern lights before. It was breathtaking. I decided to stay on the rooftop for a while. I wasn't in a rush. Plenty of time to lay back and take in the sights.

I would always spend long nights like this when I was a little girl, staring up at the stars, nestled in the branches of Chorrol's great oak. That wasn't allowed, of course. The great oak is a symbol to the town and public property. But it was just so _comfy_. I still remember the first time I ever climbed it; Niish-Rei was with me. After the guards found us and took us home, we got such a scolding from mother…

Niish never went with me again. But I kept doing it. I got in trouble for climbing that tree too many times to count.

I didn't care. I don't shy away from the things that make me happy. I go after them.

Eventually I decided it was time to head for the Flagon. The cold was catching up to me. I descended to the city streets and wandered into darkness, keeping close to the mossy stone walls of Riften's outskirts. Guardsmen and their torches walked sleepily in the distance. Patrols had become more frequent over the past few days, a 'deterrent' for Riften's night crime. The guards weren't watching the roads, though. They were watching the skies.

Maybe Helgen finally spooked those stuck-ups in Mistveil to take the threat of the dragons seriously. People were startled to hear that the town got burned down. Me? I saw it coming. Meeting that dragon on the road to Riften taught me all I needed to know about their ilk. They're big, they're fast, and they can burn up whatever they damn well please. That included villages and cities. Helgen was the first story, but it wouldn't be the last.

Passing the temple of Mara, I arrived at Riften's cemetery. Headstones were cropped inside an enclosure of iron fence. A memorial building stood at one end with a large stone coffin inside. Its lid won't come off unless you know how to work it. Within lies a hidden passage, a ladder leading down to the city cistern; to the Thieves Guild.

As I sauntered through the cemetery, my eyes were drawn to the sight of nightshades. They were growing all around the graves in clusters with tall stems and violet petals. You see them a lot in graveyards. Some say the flowers only thrive in the presence of death. Tonight they looked even more vibrant than usual, glowing beneath the auroras above.

I turned to step through the memorial building. That's when I heard a voice.

"You would visit the dead at this hour, marsh sister?"

A jolt shot down my tail. I spun around. A man was standing behind me among the headstones. I could see his smile in the dim torchlight.

"I have startled you… Apologies," he said.

I knew faces in Riften. This was someone new. An Argonian mercenary or sellsword, maybe, wearing rough leather armor and a brown short cloak tucked beneath the straps of his knapsack. He was armed with a longsword, a knife and a crossbow. The man's accent carried a hint of Black Marsh – raspy, but well spoken.

His face was hidden under the hood of his cloak, horns sticking out back. All I could see were the scales on his snout and the glint in his eyes.

"And you are…?" I asked.

"A traveler. Passing through Riften," he replied.

_Great. That tells me everything I need to know. Creepy bastard…_

"Uh-huh. Look, I'm out for a walk," I said. "Do me a favor? Go bother someone else."

So much for heading to the Flagon. I couldn't use the hidden entrance while _he_ was around. I walked away to go kill some time.

"You went to some impressive lengths to steal a coin purse," the man suddenly spoke up. "This one wonders what you mean to do with it."

I stopped in my tracks.

_…Shit…_

"Excuse me?" I griped, feigning innocence. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Do not play me for a fool," he said. He wasn't smiling anymore. "I watched you break into that home. You were on its rooftop for some time."

_Is he… stalking me...?_

For someone who just caught a thief, he seemed docile. He wasn't calling out for the guards. I had a feeling this guy had his own agenda.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about," I insisted.

"I believe you do. But if you insist on denying it…"

He glanced away. I followed his gaze to a distant guard on patrol. It was a threat if I'd ever seen one. He wasn't letting me off the hook. I would have tried for one more misdirection, but it was obvious he knew what I'd done. That and his weapons had me nervous.

"Fine, fine. Guilty as charged," I sighed, empty hands held up. "Guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought. Silly me."

"You sell yourself short," he said. "I doubt anyone else saw you. Your theft was well performed."

"Oh? Is that so?" I perked up, smiling coyly.

The man stepped closer and put his hands on his hip.

"Do not mistake my praise. I admired your theft. That doesn't mean I _approve_ of it."

"Are you going to turn me in?"

"I have not so far, have I?"

"Then you care about me stealing, _because_…?"

"That money doesn't belong to you. You shouldn't steal it. No one should be stealing."

I gave a sly smirk. "I don't see you trying to stop me."

His own smile was back. "And yet you haven't left."

"So… what is this, then?"

"Call it an intervention."

"Ha! An intervention? You don't look like a man of the cloth to me," I teased. "Are you some disciple of Mara? Here to convert me from a life of petty crime?"

The man deflated, still smiling. "It would be nice if things went that way..."

I returned a wide grin, head cocked to the side.

"They won't," I said.

"As expected," he sighed.

_Alright Dar, that's enough flirting_. I'd had enough of this wise-ass. If he wasn't going to do anything, I wasn't about to stick around. I started backing off.

"Listen, I'm sure you find this conversation captivating, but if you don't mind, I have other things… to…"

I stopped and felt for the coin purse at my waist. It wasn't there.

"What the–!?"

I heard a soft jingling. The man glared at me.

"Let's not get carried away," he spoke sternly, holding the purse in his hand. "As I said, this doesn't belong to you."

My jaw dropped. _How!? When did he–!?_

Tying the sack to his belt, the man glanced at me indifferently.

"You seem surprised," he said.

Damn right. That… Gods, I didn't even know _what _he was, but that man made a fool of me in short order. Not once did I think to watch for pickpockets. I still should have caught him in the act, though. A thief has to learn to be aware of her surroundings.

_Have I gone dull? I should have noticed him! Who is this guy…!? _

"No one should be stealing, huh?" I growled. "Godsdamned, I actually bought that."

"Bought what?" he replied, finishing his knot.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, shut up! If you were just going to take the money from me, why put on a show about it?"

"This is no show."

"What's with the self-righteous act, then!?"

"I am not acting."

"_Bullshit._"

"Hardly," he said. "This money belongs to whomever you robbed. I wasn't about to let you go and take it. Now that it's in my hands, I can return it to its proper owner."

That took me a second to process.

"You're _returning it_!?"

The man blinked at me.

"Yes. Are you hard of hearing?"

"WHY!?"

The red Argonian folded his arms.

"Hmm… I suppose one might call this civility. I would be grateful if someone returned money to _me_ that had been stolen. Would you not feel the same?" His words were harshening. "Or do thieves have no qualms getting stolen from, themselves…?"

The man walked toward me. He stopped as he passed, eying me intently. In the light of a torch I could see faint scars streaked across the side of his snout.

"How we choose to treat others is just that – a choice," he said. "Be wary of the river you've chosen to swim, marsh sister. It will not end well for you. Contempt is repaid more often than compassion."

He walked away, leaving me to chew on his words. I thought it was all a joke. There was no way, _no_ _way_ that man would actually return the money I stole. Of all the things I imagined that could've gone wrong with the heist, this wasn't remotely among them. Yet there he was, going off on his merry way.

"Hey!" I barked. "You think I'm just going to let you leave!?"

"You would be unwise to try and stop me," he replied.

"And you don't have the slightest clue what that's for!" I said, catching up to him. "Who do you think you are!?" I reached out to grab his arm.

That was a mistake.

He spun back and grabbed me first, snatching my wrist in a heartbeat. His strength and speed were startling. I reached for my knife out of threatened instinct. The man's eyes snapped down to my weapon and for the briefest second I saw something in them.

Malice.

He pushed me away. There was flash of light. I froze, staring down the tip of his sword, drawn and poised at my head.

"Stop this foolishness," he hissed. "Withdraw your weapon and step away."

If a man could shoot fear like an arrow with the glare of his eyes, I hadn't known it till then. The look on his face terrified me. It seemed almost practiced. I didn't know what kind of wanderer this guy was, but even a fool knows a killer when she sees one.

"Please… I have no wish to hurt you," he said calmly, softening his demeanor.

I recovering my wits and holstered my knife. The man lowered his sword and silently slipped it back into its scabbard. He had a disheartened look on his face, as though he felt ashamed at what he'd done.

"I am sorry, but you are stealing from nobody tonight," he said. "There will be no more stunts."

Again he started off. I couldn't stop him. Maybe worse than that, I was afraid to try again. The man wasn't just adamant – he was dangerous. My mother would've told me to cut my losses, that I was playing with fire. If I kept the matter in my hands they'd only get burned. It was time to move on.

I knew there was a reason why I never listened to her.

"Weren't you wondering what I was going to _do_ with that money?" I called out.

The man stopped and turned around slowly.

"You are persistent," he replied. "But yes... I did say that, didn't I? Though I am unsure what difference it makes."

"It makes every difference, idiot," I hissed. "That money isn't for me. It's for a woman named Keerava. I'm trying to pay off a debt of hers."

I waited for him to crack some remark. He returned attentive silence. I kept talking.

"She runs an inn with her partner, Talen-Jei. They've spent years trying to save up enough to leave Riften, but they're barely making ends meet. Now the Thieves Guild is trying to shake them down. It's a control tactic. They don't care if they can't draw blood from a stone."

"What role do you play in all of this?" the man asked.

My mind conjured the faces of Bersi and Haelga, the two I'd already collected debts from. Both affairs had been ugly. The man was making me hate myself more than I already did.

"Does it matter? I'm the one who's trying to stop them," I said.

"By robbing another…?"

"I could've robbed anybody. But I chose that fisher because of his wife, Nivenor. The man you're trying to return that to?" I pointed at Bolli's coin purse. "He's one of the wealthiest people in Riften. All the while, his wife splurges the wealth of her husband on lavish living. It would take Keerava and Talen months to save up the money I stole. Nivenor would spend that in a _day _on trinkets or jewelry without a second thought! If her having one less necklace means another couple can keep their means to _live_, that's damn fine by me."

The wanderer flicked his tail. "You care much for this inn keeper," he said.

"When I came here to Riften, I'd lost everything to my name," I spoke with enough honesty. "She and her partner took me in and put me back on my feet. I _owe them_. But if I can't find a way to pay for their debt, the Thieves Guild will send someone else to shake them down. They won't be kind and considerate."

"I fail to see how this justifies your actions," he said with scowl.

"_Bite me_," I hissed, "I know what I am. And I don't care what you think. This isn't about me or you. This is about Keerava. She needs that money more than Bolli or Nivenor."

The man eased off, mulling over a new dilemma. He took himself to be some sort of do-gooder. It was a long shot, but I needed that purse back. I had to convince him that what I wanted _was_ good. Good enough, anyway.

"Nothing you say can be believed," he muttered. "But if you are telling the truth…"

"I am."

"…then this does change things."

He paused for a while, lost hard in thought, tail pacing back and forth.

"First, a question," he said. "I did not come here to Riften on a whim. I am searching for a place north of here called Stonefalls Hollow. Have you heard of it?"

At last! The man decided to toss me a line.

"No," I replied, "but now that you mention it I might know someone who has."

Delvin Mallory. He may have screwed up the job in Cyrodiil, but that codger didn't become a head of the guild on stupidity. He's well connected and knows the province like the back of his hand. If anyone could tell me where to find this 'Stonefalls Hollow,' he might. And that was leverage I needed.

"I see," the man said. "Could you take me to whom you speak of?"

"You don't strike me as the kind of guy he'd be willing work with."

"Then could you find out the location from him?"

I smirked. "Why yes, I _could_ do that. With some incentive, perhaps..."

"Indeed. It seems we both have something the other needs."

"Let's keep this simple, then. Give me back that money and I'll find out whatever information you want."

The man shook his head. "No. I said I would return this and I meant it. You will not persuade me otherwise."

"Then you're getting nothing from me," I growled, folding my arms.

"Do not be so sure," he replied with confidence. "You have given your offer. Now I shall give mine."

My offer was more than fair! But of course _he_ wouldn't be so reasonable.

"I will return this money to where it belongs," the man said. "And you will go to this contact of yours and find out where Stonefalls Hollow is."

Before I could speak, he hushed me with a raise of his hand.

"In exchange, I will pay for this debt personally, on my expense."

I startled. "You'll what!?"

"It is more agreeable than your proposal, yes? No one gets stolen from and everyone gets what they want." He was smiling again with that stupid smile of his. "What do you say?"

_Gods above… I can't win…_

"Are you out of your mind!?" I snapped. "I'm not falling for that!"

The man checked the contents of Bolli's purse. "How much did you steal? Seven hundred Septims, give or take…?"

He returned the bag to his belt, pulled out another, and tossed it. The bag sailed into my hands with a rattling thud.

"That should be more than half of what you need," the man said, grinning broadly. "The rest is yours, right now, if you choose to help me."

I loosed the mouth of the bag, speechless. There were over three hundred Septims inside.

"Deadra and divines, you're serious!" I said softly.

"I am always serious," he replied.

That man was willing to pay Keerava's debt to keep me from stealing. Who does that? As crazy as his offer was, though, it did get me the money I needed. He was right. It was a good offer, almost too good. The only one who seemed to be getting ripped off was _him_.

_Wake up idiot, he's manipulating you! There must be more to this he isn't telling. He's dangerous! You can't trust him! Are you just going to let him string you along?_

Apparently yes, I was.

"Fine. You've got a deal," I muttered. "Give me the rest and I'll do what you ask. As long as you don't try anything funny…"

The man nodded. "I apologize, but there is one last concern. It would be easy for you to bring me false information. I hope you understand. I have no wish to be led astray."

I grumbled inwardly. "Then you'll just have to trust me, won't you?"

"And I do. Which is why I would have you navigate for the both of us."

_What did he just say?_

"You wouldn't," I hissed.

"Come with me to find this hollow, marsh sister. I will gladly compensate you further. I know it is much of me to ask, but given the circumstances I see no better way. My time is of essence and I cannot afford set-backs."

He wanted me to travel with him. Plus he'd only given me half of the payment. Something told me he wouldn't give the rest until I agreed to help him. I'd been roped into becoming his insurance. No wonder he made the deal sound so reasonable.

I should have walked away. But I didn't. I had no reason to trust him. But I wanted to.

Why?

"I cannot say there isn't a risk of danger," the man spoke sternly, "but no harm will come to you. I promise."

Was he talking about hazards on the roads? Or himself? Maybe both. I couldn't make sense of what I was feeling. Something in my gut was telling me I could _trust_ him. I didn't know why at the time, but I think I do now. People in this world like to put on masks, acting the parts that get them what they want. They fake themselves and when push comes to shove you see what's really behind the curtain.

That man wasn't a fake. He was genuinely sincere.

"I'll take your word," I said begrudgingly. "When and where?"

"By the lakeside, after sunrise. Will you be rested enough?"

"I can deal with a lack of sleep."

The man curled his tail, making some weird posture, and regarded me warmly. He tossed over the remaining payment.

"I shall wait for you, then. Gather whatever you will need for the journey," he said, leaving quietly. "And please, forgive me."

"Forgive you?"

"Yes. For my harshness before. And for misjudging you."

_Misjudging…?_

Damn it all. His agenda was a mystery, but he seemed determined to leave an impression on me.

"I could always steal the money again, you know," I said to him as he left. "You haven't changed anything."

The wanderer turned back one last time.

"You think I don't realize this? Your actions are your own, marsh sister. You are free to steal again as you please." He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, smiling coolly. "Just as I am free to stop you."

With those words he disappeared into the dark streets of Riften. I loitered in the graveyard for a while, coming to terms with what just happened. Then I went down to the Thieves Guild hideout. I had a debt to pay and preparations to make. To think the night started off so well…

If I've said it once, I'll say it a million times: I don't know how I get talked into half the things I do.

~ooooo~

"You look like you're ready for long journey," Talen remarked.

Morning came sooner than I thought. I'd given the money to Brynjolf and told Keerava about the debt. It took some effort to reassure her that I hadn't paid it off illegitimately. At any rate, she and Talen were grateful for my unexpected gesture.

My work in Riften was done. It was time for the next order of business.

"Hmph. I'm not allowed to go hiking on a nice day?" I teased, gathering my things to leave the Bee and Barb.

"I didn't think you were the type for that sort of thing," Talen replied.

He was right.

I threw a bow and quiver over my shoulder; _my_ bow and quiver. I'd decided to put some of that wanderer's money to use. My leather outfit from the thieves' guild would have to do for travel clothes.

"Then I guess you don't know the type of girl I really am," I said lightheartedly. "Try not to get in any more trouble with the guild while I'm gone."

"Bah! Those lowlifes can go jump off the pier," Keerava growled, hunched over the bar counter. Defiant till the end. I don't think Talen fully approved – neither did I, for that matter. The guild was in bad straits, but they could still stir a lot of trouble for the both of them. They'd just need a reason.

"We'll be fine," Talen assured me. "You be careful too, Dar-Meena… Watch the skies."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," I snorted, stepping out the door.

The city was alive, filled with the usual sounds, sights and smells. Leaves blew by in a strong wind and the air above was clear and cloudless. I strolled to the gates, passing by people I'd come to know. Marise, the produce merchant. Snilf, the begger. Madessi, the jeweler.

I was surprised to see two more new faces. A white furred Khajiit, wearing a simple dress, and a Breton courier. It looked like the cat received a delivery and stopped to chat with the man. I didn't hear anything about a Khajiit staying in the city. It was odd, but it didn't bother me. It's not like I was in the mood to make any new acquaintances. Might turn out to be as crazy as that wanderer…

Speaking of whom, I found him far off from the city. He was quietly sitting cross-legged by the lake, watching the wind blow stripes of waves across its surface. His hood was still pulled over, only adding to his lonesome appearance. Beneath the morning sun his bright red scales shone clearly. I walked up behind him, idly rubbing the burn on my shoulder, and opened my mouth to speak.

"Were you able to settle your debt?" he asked suddenly.

I grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Let's just get this over with."

"You know where we're going?"

"Stonefalls Hollow, right?" I said, pulling out the map Devlin had written on. "It's a full day's walk from here along the Velothi mountains. Used to be a hideout for a group of bandits." I hesitated. "Is there a reason you're trying to find this place? What's waiting for us there?"

"I do not know," he said eagerly, standing up. "I am searching for someone. If we do not find him there I hope to at least find some trace of where he went."

"You going after this guy?" I asked.

The man looked at me reassuringly. "No. I am not pursuing him. Merely investigating. If we have a day's trip ahead of us, let's not dawdle any longer." He gestured with an outstretched arm, inviting me to take the lead. "Shall we?"

Frowning, I folded my arms and kept my feet firmly planted.

"I'm supposed to travel with somebody who hasn't even told me his name…?"

The man adjusted a strap on his knapsack.

"It did not affect our conversation before," he said flippantly.

"I have to call you _something._ Don't piss around. Just tell me your name already."

I thought I saw somberness in the wanderer's expression. It left as soon as it came. He smiled, letting out a long sigh.

"Ah, but what is a name?" he said, pulling back his hood at last. His real face was nicer than the one I imagined for him. A breeze rustled through the feathers on his head as I met his sky-blue eyes. "You may call me Chases-The-Wind, if you wish."

_Chases-The-Wind?_ What a weird name. It was almost… gentle sounding. It didn't suit him.

"Okay then… Am I leading?"

"If you know the path, marsh sister."

"I do," I replied, brushing a comb of claws through my feathers. "I'm Dar-Meena, by the way. You can stop calling me marsh sister."

He nodded. "As you wish, Dar-Meena."


	30. Arc 2 - Chapter 6

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 6 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Turdas, 21st of Last Seed 4E 201_

One more day. My escort would return to Morrowind. I would be home again, back in the comforts of Blacklight. I could return to my studies, to my books and research, to my loving husband, to groveling beneath the Telvanni's boot heels. Life would be as it had been.

Sad that this did not thrill me as much as I hoped. But there were more pressing concerns.

"Cowards," I muttered. "You're all cowards."

Some of the mages scoffed at my insult. Savos frowned at me – a concerned frown.

"Falura, please," he said, "this sudden distraught is unnecessary…"

"You are all so engrossed in your scholarly hobbies and pet projects enough to _ignore _the threat this dragon poses," I jeered, "and you expect me to _not_ be distraught?"

I was giving an address to a clutch of college instructors in the Hall of the Elements, a room commonly used for spell practice. Sunlight filtering through stained glass windows, mixed with the blue glow of a mystic focal point, sitting in the room's center like a fountain. I could not leave Skyrim with any peace of mind without first warning the mages of what I'd witnessed – the white dragon's slaughtering of an entire Legion company. I hoped my words could convey the terrible power that that flying beast possessed. It posed a great danger to the college and countless lives in the region. I sought to convince the instructors of the need for immediate responsive action.

Not one person offered to lift so much as a finger. The mages would sit in their cold secluded college and do nothing. Fools, the lot of them!

"We would never dream of ignoring this dragon's presence," one of the mages spoke up, a middle aged Breton named Colette Marence, teacher of Restoration. Her voice was high pitched and nasal. "But there is absolutely no reason for us to throw ourselves into a troll's den of danger over your _hunch_ that this dragon might pose a larger threat."

"Hunch?" I snapped. "Do you take my observations to be idle conjecture? I watched those men die, their bodies left to freeze in the snow! I need no further evidence to convince me that this dragon's intentions are malevolent."

"You say that the dragon is roosting in the region of mount Anthor," Savos rejoined. "Perhaps the soldiers wandered too close into its territory. Those men could have been hunting the dragon. Have you considered this? What if the attack was an act of defense or territorial instinct?"

"That dragon took the _offensive_, Savos," I asserted, with a hand gesture chopping the air. "It flew to their camp and killed every man alive with systematic intent. It _spoke_ to them! This dragon possesses enough intelligence to form coherent language! We cannot consign the motivations of such a creature to be mere primal instinct."

"That still doesn't mean the soldiers hadn't intended the dragon harm," another mage added. Phinis Gestor, the local expert on matters of Conjuration. And necromancy. "You didn't find any evidence to suggest what they were doing in this region."

I knew they would use that against me. I was losing momentum. These people were determined to find any and every reason to avoid confronting this beast. They would rather see the attack as an unfortunate accident, as though the men were victims of nature, like travelers killed by a netch after wandering too close to its nest.

"Then I implore you: we must return to the scene and search for clues!" I insisted.  
"We have to discover why the dragon killed these men. If it intends to repeat the behavior…"

"Falura, listen to yourself," Savos lamented. "We don't know whether or not this was an isolated incident. What will we learn if we merely provoke another attack? I can't have our brightest instructors out imperiling their lives to study this dragon."

"With the right precautions, I'm certain we could eliminate any–"

"It just isn't worth the risk, my dear," another mage stepped up to speak. Tolfdir, an elderly Nord versed in the school of Alteration. "Believe me when I say that I share your concerns. The safety of our college is a tremendous priority. But we know so little about dragons! We should dedicate time to further research in the archives first, at the very least."

The man gave sincere cautionary wisdom. I acknowledge that I was confronting many unknowns with my pursuit. It would surely benefit from a healthy dose of judiciousness.

If only my window wasn't closing.

"Or we can go out there and learn more, _right now_," I said. "While we still have the chance."

_While I'm still in Skyrim._

Savos' patience had been worn too thin. He sensed that neither side of this argument would yield to the other.

"I think that's enough, Falura. You've argued your case," he said. "We will stay vigilant for signs of the dragon's activities, but we can't investigate the matter as you want us to. Are we clear?"

I shook my head, eyes clenched shut in frustration. _Can't investigate? Or won't? Choose your words carefully, Savos. You're the one who's worrying me._

"Yes, we are clear. I'm sorry for taking all of your time," I muttered to the gathering of mages, "and for wasting my breath."

Why did I bother? The Telvanni never listen to me. These instructors were no different. What ill is there in my implorations that they should always fall on deaf ears? The group dispersed, footsteps clopping on the tiled floor, leaving the Arch-Mage and I to ourselves in the frigid domed chamber.

"Don't deem your efforts in vain. Your passion is commendable," he said. "I'm sure your observations will help our scholars in unraveling the nature of dragons. And please, rest assured. The college will take care of itself. It always has."

_Don't worry about us_ _while you're gone_, I assumed he meant. He did not want me to fret over what might happen in my absence. It was much too late for that.

"On behalf of the college," he said with a smile, "I thank you for the knowledge you've given us."

I glared at the leaves of parchment Savos held in his hand. The originals. I had promptly written down everything I could remember from my encounter after returning to the college. The documents would be given back to me once duplicated.

"You can thank those who paid for that knowledge," I hissed, "in blood."

I turned my back to him and left, retreating to the college courtyard. The morning sun was bright and glaring. It brought little warmth to the grounds, still buffeted by icy winds. I suppressed a yawn. How could I have possibly slept well after what happened the night before? Yet still I carried on, trying to seize the day as always. My stubborn tendency to remain a busy-body is ever the constant complain of my husband, but I can't help myself. What is there to be gained in idleness? Of all the resources mortals amass, time is the one we cannot add to. I often wonder how much more precious it must be for men or beasts whose lives are measured in decades instead of centuries.

Crushed by the mages of the college, I accepted that the burden of the white dragon's threat was mine to bear alone. I leaned against a brick wall, standing between me and a long plummet into the sea of ghosts below, as I tightly drew over my coat.

I wanted to do more. I wasn't finished. If I did not continue to carry the torch, who would? What I lacked was not motivation or courage to brave the unknown, but rather, to my aggravation, capacity.

_One more day… _

One more day was not enough.

I feared I needed to make a very difficult decision. Soon.

~ooooo~

_Fredas, 22st of Last Seed 4E 201_

Alas, whatever decision needed to be made I could not will myself to make it. After another restless night of unproductive study in the Arcanaeum, the sun rose on my final day. I packed up my belongings, gathered my notes, and prepared for the inevitable. The journey back to Morrowind would embark at noon. I stopped caring about the larger implications of that, for fear of confronting ugly truths. I was more content to drift along like a stick on the water. What is it about apathy that can make one so sedate? So content?

I proved to be no better than the mages of the college. In my discouragement, their state of denial had infected me like a disease.

A final stop at the local dry goods store would sign me off. Snow and wind blew through the wooden door as I stepped inside the cramped walls of 'Birna's Oddments.' Another storm began to bluster last night and carried on into the day. It was not severe enough to delay the trip, naturally. Only enough to add more snow to an already anticipatively miserable carriage ride.

At least I would return to Ethyl. I did not mind my brief sojourn from that old troubadour, but I missed him fiercely. More to the matter I missed his high spirits. His endearing wit and incessant affection could clear my skies on even the cloudiest days.

I stepped up to the store counter, to a woman whom I could only assume was Birna, shaking off snowflakes from my coat.

"You're one of the elves visiting from Morrowind, yah? Heard about you," the shopkeeper said.

"I'll be returning soon. I'm looking for a pound of dried fish for the trip," I replied, "and a pair of gloves if you have any. I seem to have misplaced the ones I brought with me."

"Aye, I'll see what gloves I have. Fish are in the back."

The woman checked a few drawers and counters behind her desk. I went to a cluster of barrels she'd pointed to and picked out the largest fish I could find inside. The pungent smell coming from the open lids was almost incentive enough to reconsider buying. But even bad fish would be better than whatever game the escort guards would hunt. Red meat makes me sick. I walked back, laying down my purchase beside a set of too-large leather gloves. They would suffice.

"Have there been any more sightings of the white dragon?" I asked, something pleading in the pit of my voice.

"It'd be a wonder if we could see anything in this weather," the woman replied, wrapping the fish. "The snow never stops around here. Hard to believe I ever complained about Riften being cold."

_It was sunny the other day,_ I thought absentmindedly.

"I guess it was too much to hope for."

"Hope for? You _want_ to see it?" Birna sounded bemused. "This town must be getting to you. Be glad you don't have to stay. It gets to all of us."

Depression. The only thing Winterhold had more than snow.

I presented my payment. "Thank you."

Birna nodded. "Keep your eyes on the sky if you're heading south," she said.

I paused opening the doorway. A gentle gust of white flakes flurried inside.

"Come again?"

"I said watch the skies."

"No, I heard you," I said, quietly shutting the door. "What do you mean?"

The woman stood up from a slouch. "Oh, you didn't hear? Some tradesmen came into town yesterday. Said they saw another dragon flying out over the hot springs. I wouldn't have believed it if we hadn't seen one the day before. "

My nerves froze. _Another dragon._ I assumed only the one…

"Did they mention anything else?" I asked anxiously.

"There was something about a small village in the south. Helgen. They got told by some caravan that a dragon burned it down. Sounds more like the Stormcloaks to me… but damned if I know what's happening anymore these days."

Could it be? It wasn't impossible.

_A village attacked… Multiple sightings… _

Were the dragons returning in numbers? How many were there? Why were they appearing so suddenly? Was there a connection to the call of the Greybeards? Would they continue to attack settlements? What if they left Skyrim and flew to other lands?

What if they flew to Morrowind?

I barged out of the store. My decision had been made. I couldn't leave, not yet! There were too many questions! There was too much to be done! I had to remain in Skyrim and continue pursuing this research. We needed to know more about the dragons. Lives depended on it.

Briskly pacing through the snow, passing guards and wood buildings, I weighed a dozen hypothesizes. Dragons are aggressive, intelligent beings – that was as much as I knew with certainty. If their numbers were few, resisting their advances and minimizing casualties would be a difficult but feasible task. On the other hand, if their numbers were increasing…

Nerevar! What would happen if they _organized!?_ Coordinated their attacks!? With their mobility and power they could devastate entire armies, cripple economies! Swaths of fire or ice breath alone could decimate farms, leaving populations to starve while under siege! The losses were unthinkable! Entire pockets of civilization could be _brought to their knees!_

Fear sunk into my skin like clenching teeth. At best we were facing the devastation of towns and cities. At worst…

…this was a growing catastrophe to rival the Oblivion Crisis.

I hurried back to my study.

_I have to warn Ethyl! I have to tell him what's happening!_

And why I wasn't coming home.

With an arm sweeping across the top of my desk, I cleared the clutter to make room for a slip of paper. I dipped a quill tip in ink and wrote furiously. The escort to Morrowind would leave soon, which meant my time was short. I needed to give Ethyl the complete picture, omitting nothing. He deserved to know the full reason I was choosing to stay. I would send him a letter along with a synopsis of the white dragon encounter.

This _wasn't _some trivial pursuit. I hoped he would understand that. Black words formed on the page.

_'My dear Ethyl. Before you worry yourself to death, know that I am fine. No harm has befallen me. And no, I am not leaving you. If I come home and I find you've thrown yourself into another one of your drunken stupors, tuning the strings on your–'_

I crumpled the paper and tossed it aside.

"No, no… Not like that… Be sensitive, not cynical," I muttered.

Start over.

_All you have to do is_ _tell him what you're doing…_

As I continued to write, I became increasingly flustered, emotions running high. I did not know how long I would remain in Skyrim. There was no telling what sorts of dangers I would to encounter. To speak nothing of the dragons themselves, Skyrim was home to hosts of barbaric denizens. And with the civil war raging on…

_How will he react when the escort returns and I'm not there?_

I wouldn't have any reliable means of sending correspondence to Blacklight. Nor could I receive any mail in reply. I anticipated this research would involve a degree of travel. My current funds were adequate for the task, though being cut off from my estate would be cumbersome in the long run.

_Can I really do this? Alone?_

Fears and doubts began to gnaw at me. I pushed them down and kept writing.

_What if… I don't return? What if I die out here?_

They were persistent. They pushed back.

_He would spend the rest of his life wondering what happened to me… _

"Stop it!" I sobbed, wiping my eyes. "Stop it! You have to do this…!"

_These could be the last words I ever say to him._

The quill became a lead weight in my hand. I set it aside and leaned on an elbow, palm pressed against my mouth. Tears fell down and died upon the parchment. Ethyl could do nothing in protest. I was leaving him powerless in the face of my decision.

But if I returned to Morrowind, he would surely persuade me to stay. He had every reason to try. Ethyl almost lost me to a similar expedition many years ago. That tragedy at Balfalls still haunted him as much as it haunted me. The man was a worrywart. He saw me as a thing to protect – fragile, like glass.

"Falura?" an anxious voice spoke behind me. Savos. "Your carriage rider is look for you. Is something wrong?"

I sat up and looked down at my letter. It was finished.

_Oh Ethyl… Please forgive me for this…_

"I'm sending this to my husband," I said, brushing a tear from my eye as I held the parchment in my hands. "He should know why I've chosen to stay in Skyrim."

The Arch-Mage looked baffled. "Stay! You're not going back?"

I pushed away from my desk and stood, composed.

I was not fragile.

"I will have need of this study quarters until my research into the dragons is finished, Savos. Fees are no issue – we will discuss the matter later. Do excuse the inconvenience."

Savos stared at me as I walked past.

"It is no inconvenience, Falura," he said. He did not see my smile. I stepped into the courtyard. Once my letter was securely away I would resume my research in the college library.

So much to do…

The Arcanaeum's lack of texts on dragons would be a minor setback. Instead, I would further investigate other topics of concern – namely the Greybeards and the Dragonborn. More importantly, I would keep my ears open. I did not know enough about dragons, as Tolfdir had said, to risk another full on encounter, but few other options were open to me. I decided to wait for another word of dragon activity to reach Winterhold. If the source was trustworthy, I would investigate.

~ooooo~

_Morndas, 25st of Last Seed 4E 201_

Three days later, I found my chance in the form of a war courier bringing news from the front. Soldiers and the local militia in Winterhold were interested in the current state of central Skyrim. The Jarl of the region's hold was in swing, siding with neither the Stormcloaks nor the Imperials. Both sides were putting pressure on him. News was spreading, however, that the Jarl's city had been sieged. By dragon fire.

I prepared myself for a journey that promised a plethora of new discoveries.

To the city of Whiterun…


	31. Arc 2 - Chapter 7

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 7 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

Northbound through the woodlands of the Rift we made our way to Stonefalls Hollow. The land sloped downward, uneven and rock-strewn. String-like clouds streaked across the azure above, coasting gently on the wind. Eagle caws echoed through the empty air.

"Augh–! Dammit!"

Dar-Meena stumbled, kicking up the forest floor.

"Watch your step," I said. "Plenty of roots hidden under these leaves."

The young thief scowled. Her black scales were speckled with sunlight filtering down through a red-orange canopy.

"I noticed," she muttered.

I grinned sympathetically. She obviously did not enjoy this trek. She would enjoy it even less with a broken ankle.

Dar-Meena continued to stare at me with a look of expectation as we walked. I glanced off at the snowy mountains to our right. They loomed tremendously high, a barrier of icy stone to mark the border of Morrowind. A place I had not been to in years. I was reminded of my first journey to the province. The flora and fauna there seemed not of this plane, as did the bizarre creatures…

Something hard struck my snout. I flinched at Dar-Meena. She'd thrown at rock at me.

"Don't stop talking," she said.

"W- What…?" I rubbed at the sore on my face, confused.

"That was the first thing you've said to me in _hours_."

My tail swished over the leaves.

"You exaggerate," I said. "We have not traveled together that long."

"It feels like that long," Dar-Meena grumbled. "Just… do you have to be so quiet?"

"Silence does not demand that it be filled all the time."

"I don't care, okay?" She walked sideways, gesturing as she spoke. "We're a couple of complete strangers out in the woods. _By ourselves. _I'm supposed to help you find some mysterious person or whatever, but I still have no reason to think you aren't going to backstab me. I can't read your mind."

The thief glared angrily at me. "So stop with the silence. It's making me paranoid."

_ Hmm… That does make a certain sense._

"Fair enough," I said, smiling. "I apologize. I am not accustomed to companionship on my travels."

"Oh _wow_, really?" she retorted, feigning surprise. "I never would have guessed."

I sighed. This woman was very peculiar. One might imagine my surprise when I first saw her in Riften, climbing out of a window in the dead of night. I had snuck into the city to question locals about the location of Stonefalls at sunrise. Dar-Meena became an unexpected change in priority. She appeared to be much younger than I. The thief was rude in her behavior and short tempered, but these things did not bother me. Having the company of someone _overtly _condescending is better than the opposite.

What struck me the most about Dar-Meena was not her outward demeanor. When she revealed her motives behind her theft in Riften, it spoke something of her values. Even after my show of force she did not back down. That did not justify her actions in my eyes, but her determination to aid this innkeeper she knew was uplifting. There was good in her.

If there was a chance she could be dissuaded from her path in life, I wanted to take it.

Not all thieves are heartless. Not all killers are callous. Yet an absence of one evil does not negate the presence of another. Regardless of the intent, thievery can bring terrible pain. Scars are left in its wake – I still wear mine on my face. I could not stand by and watch a young woman live her life as a criminal, not when she cared about other lives around her. I would rather intervene.

Helping people has always been my mission, but the greatest effect I can have on a person requires a closer approach. Do you think it strange that I would risk traveling with someone like this? As a wanted man? I will tell you it is not so strange. I have come alongside many in their times of distress or at pivotal moments. Volumes could be written on the people I have come to know.

An impoverished Great War veteran, taken to gambling to feed his two daughters…

A Redguard warrior, seeking vengeance against the Dominion for a father betrayed…

A young Khajiit girl, fleeing from the Renrijra Krin to end a life of drug trafficking…

You cannot change someone's path unless you walk with them. I always make time for walking. Wherever I go.

Dar-Meena glowered at me disapprovingly. "You're doing it again..."

"Hm?" I stirred. "Oh… I'm thinking of what to say."

"Gods, you're the worst. _I'll_ start."

"Now wait just a–"

"You're from Black Marsh, aren't you Chase?" she asked. The question took me off guard.

"Er, yes… Yes I am... I take it my accent has betrayed me again." I paused. "You're calling me 'Chase' now?"

"Better than _Chases-The-Wind_. Anybody tell you your name's too long?"

"There is a first time for everything…"

Chases-The-Wind. Another alias. I have had many, and I never give out the same one twice. Keeping a constant cycle of new identities could not truly prevent the An-Xileel from finding me, but if it made their search more difficult I would be a fool not to do it. I was never at a loss for names, at any rate. Coming up with new ones had become something of a passtime. As someone who lives so often in isolation, I have a depressing amount of time to spare for such things.

"Are you familiar with our native language?" I inquired, continuing the conversation.

"No. Just the accent," Dar-Meena said. "It's hard to filter sometimes. Your Cyrodiilic's pretty good, though."

"Likewise. I seem to meet fewer and fewer Argonians outside of Black Marsh these days. You are what we would call _Lukiul_."

"What?"

"Assimilated. Imperialized. Born apart from the Hist."

"I don't know what half of that means. What's a Hist?"

A scent of amusement rose about me.

"Interesting… A land strider with gills…"

Dar-Meena frowned. She relied heavily on facial expressions to convey emotion. It was telling of her upbringing among humans.

"That'd better not be an insult," she said. The bite of her threat was toothless.

"Not at all," I assured her. "It is an observation."

Dar-Meena let out a huff. "You don't know where I'm from."

_I can reasonably guess. _

We stepped down over a slight drop off. The roads would have offered a much more level pathway. I, however, did not wish to take them. They were too exposed. Dar-Meena protested at first but eventually resigned. She had her own apprehensions with walking in the open it seemed.

"A question for you," I began. "What is the object called that people use to carry water or draw from a well?"

Dar-Meena looked at me suspiciously, as though my words contained a trap. She slowly gave an unsure answer, syllables drawn out.

"…A bucket?"

I returned a broad grin she would notice.

"You are from northern Cyrodiil," I said. "Cheydinhal, perhaps? Chorrol?"

The shocked look on her face was priceless. It immediately darkened.

"How," she demanded.

"Two reasons. I presumed Cyrodiil by your manner. You are obviously educated and accustomed to urban life. As for the question I asked, your answer was telling. People in northern parts of Cyrodiil use the word 'bucket' to speak of what I described."

"Because that's what it's called," Dar-Meena asserted.

"Not everywhere. People in _southern_ parts of the province do not call them buckets. They call them _pails._"

"Pails? Buckets and pails? Those don't sound anything like each other…"

"They do not have to. Any word can be used to describe anything, so long as there is a shared understanding. It is the reason languages differ so much."

"When did you figure this out?"

"I heard the difference. Such things are more discernible to one who travels as much as I do." And who possesses a trained ear for language, among other things.

Dar-Meena regarded me thoughtfully. A sly smile rose on her face.

"Not bad," she said. "I can't take you lightly at all, can I?"

_No._

"Good that you notice this." I smiled in turn.

"So what are you, Chase?"

"Hm?"

Dar-Meena's expression became stern. "What are you _really_? You seem to know an awful lot, even for a wanderer. There's something you're not telling me. Does it have to do with this person we're finding?"

My smile faded. _Don't indulge her. _Our conversation had strayed to a place I did not approve. Conveniently I saw something in the right corner of my eye.

"Hold that thought," I interrupted, coming to a halt. A pile of rocks led up to an overpass, scattered roots hanging from its soily underside. Some of the trees on top looked climbable. This was good. I needed an excuse to scout ahead. Heading over to the rocks, I scaled my way up.

"…What are you doing?" Dar-Meena asked, hands on her hips.

"Surveying the landscape," I said. "This will only take a moment."

The thief began to pout. She was smart enough to know I was dodging her question. High up in the branches of a pine tree I pulled a compact telescope from my bag and stretched it out, bringing the cold metal rim of the lens up to my eye. A familiar motion.

"Well? What do you see?" Dar-Meena spoke impatiently.

"There are some large spiders in the forest," I said, pointing, "further north near a decline. We should go around, away from the base of the mountains."

"Spiders? You're worried about spiders?" she mocked.

"Spiders over half our size, yes. I would consider my worry a healthy one."

Dar-Meena's eyes widened. She bit her tongue and walked away, throwing her arms up. "Of course! They're _giant _spiders! Why wouldn't Skyrim have those too?"

The young thief rubbed her shoulder in irritation. _She's been doing that a lot, _I noted.

"It is no great concern. Their numbers are few. I'm sure we could handle them, if it came to that," I said in a reassuring voice. I raised the telescope to my eye once more. After a final scan of the landscape – no signs of any other threats, on the ground or in the sky – I lowered the instrument and lingered.

"_Now _what are you looking at?" Dar-Meena griped.

"The view. It is very pleasing to the eye," I said, "The path forward is like a partition, cleaving the landscape in two. A bright, fiery forest on one side. Cold, snow coated stone on the other. It all flows down to a distant inlet of pine trees. I can barely see beyond them." A raspy hum buzzed in my throat. "Such a sight this is!"

_ Is there a soul alive who has seen every natural wonder in this world?_

Dar-Meena gave an enthusiastic clap of her hands.

"Wow. That's _great_. I'm so happy you're enjoying yourself up there." Her cheerful tone was sodden with sardonicism. "I mean, we're out here to look at nature all day, aren't we? Take your time. Let's just soak it in."

I snapped the ends of my scope together.

"This one will respond to a simple 'can we leave,'" I muttered, climbing down from the tree.

"Oh, but that's so blunt. Where's the fun?" Dar-Meena paused as I dropped to her level. "Is this a thing with you, by the way? Dramatic monologues?"

My brow scrunched at that. _Dramatic? Who's dramatic?_

"Perhaps I am a bit sentimental," I said. "What of it?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," she replied with a smirk. "Just warn me next time you decide to gush about bright fiery forests."

"You're mocking me."

"I'm mocking your choice of words."

"I thought it sounded nice. Rather poetic."

"I hate poetry."

A sigh escaped my nostrils.

"Of course you do…"

~ooooo~

Evening fell. In need of food for two, I offered to see what I could gather in the forest. After about an hour of scavenging, my bounty consisted of a single rabbit, some snowberries, and a trove of white caps. It would have to do. Personally I am happy with any food that is not fish. I returned to the spot where Dar-Meena and I would camp for the night, set aside our feast on a flat rock, and started digging a hole in the ground.

Dar-Meena sat away from me against the trunk of a tree, watching.

"Tell me that's for a fire," she said.

"It is for a fire," I said.

Dar-Meena shivered.

"Are you just saying that?"

I threw her a dull-eyed expression.

"Don't give me that look," she groaned. "You always talk the same. I can't tell if you're being sarcastic."

After the first hole I began to dig a second smaller hole that tunneled into the other, for ventilation. A Bosmer woman taught me this method of fire building. By keeping the flames partially underground the light is better concealed. With a bedding of sticks, I set up a stable floor of fuel. Sparks flashed over the pit as I used my knife as a striker with a flint rock. Within moments, a fire was flickering inside the dirt crevice. I laid out a few of the white caps to roast and started skinning the rabbit.

"You… actually live like this?" Dar-Meena asked, plucking a snowberry from the pile to eat. She made a face. I forgot to warn her that the berries weren't particularly ripe.

"I do," I said with a grin. "You might think it unpleasant, but I cherish this life."

The wilderness was a place I where I could be at ease, with nothing to fear but the land I could live off. Even in Black Marsh these were the times I loved; camping in the marsh or trees, hunting for food and resources. These were usual necessities during reconnaissance or en route to assignments. It was during such times that I found escape. I could be someone I wasn't. An observer of wildlife, a cartographer, a simple hunter…

Not a killing tool of the An-Xileel. Not an assassin.

"Whatever floats your boat," Dar-Meena remarked, taking a cleansing swig of water from her canteen. "I wouldn't mind it so much if it weren't cold as Nocturnal's tits out here."

"That is one way of putting it," I said. "I agree, though. This climate takes some getting used to."

After making the proper cuts and snapping its hind leg bones, I pulled off the rabbit's skin like a stocking. Dar-Meena observed with morbid curiosity.

"I wonder. If not the cold, what brought you here?" I asked, severing the rabbit's head with a knife. "To Skyrim, I mean."

"Opportunity," she said.

"Of what sort?"

"The sort that's my business. Don't act like you care."

The white caps were finished cooking. I removed them from the flames and laid the gutted rabbit in their place.

"I care a lot more than you probably think," I insisted.

"Then you go first," she countered. "Why are _you_ here?"

I paused.

"I am here because I have nowhere to go."

"Riveting. Is that the best you can come up with?"

"It's the most truth I can say."

Her eyes narrowed. "So there _is_ more to you…"

"I assumed that was obvious."

Dar-Meena shuffled in place, wincing slightly in pain. She pressed her hand against her shoulder. _Again? What's causing her this discomfort?_

"Are you alright?" I asked.

"Fantastic," she grumbled, "change the subject."

"To what?"

"Something other than me!" Dar-Meena snapped. She was quite angry. I suspected the wick of her tempter was being cut short by the pain in her shoulder.

Our food finished cooking. I offered Dar-Meena a larger portion than mine but she declined, stating she was not very hungry. We ate in silence. At first.

"Needs salt," the thief mumbled, taking another bite of rabbit.

"Indeed. I would have bought more back in Riften, had I been thinking," I replied, sitting cross-legged by the fire, half-eaten white cap in hand.

"Whatever. It's food. I can't complain."

"Sorry. I am not much of a cook."

"You really aren't," she said flatly. "You should let me do it next time."

Finishing her meal, Dar-Meena tried lying back against the tree again. She gave a small yelp as her clothes tugged against her shoulder. I set down my food.

"Dar-Meena, are you sure you're alright?" I asked concernedly.

"Will you give it a rest?" she hissed. "I'm fine!"

"If your shoulder is in pain, I might be able to do something–"

"No, just stop right there, okay?" she interrupted, jabbing an angry claw at me. "You're not coming anywhere near me. I already had it looked at! Don't pretend like _you_ can do something."

I leaned forward, staring Dar-Meena square in the eye. She ignored me. I held out an open palm and concentrated. The young thief turned her head suddenly to see a shimmering glow.

"Shall I demonstrate again that I do not pretend?" I said, healing spell at the ready.

She looked at me as though I had fallen from the sky.

"Magic…?" she whispered. "You're a _healer_ too?"

"I know a few spells."

Dar-Meena scowled at me.

"Good for you," she muttered, "but I don't want your magic."

Her stubbornness was beginning to worry me. I did not enjoy seeing her in pain. Nonetheless...

"I give you the option, Dar-Meena," I said. "I want to help you, but I will not impose. The choice is yours."

The young thief settled down. Something about my words calmed her. She pondered for a moment, glaring at her shoulder.

"What will you do?" she asked.

"I can only cast a basic healing touch. It will either fix what ails you or relieve you of pain. It is worth a try, yes?"

Dar-Meena groaned at the heavens. I think she really wanted to avoid accepting my help. I also think she wanted her pain gone.

"Okay. If you think it will work," she said. "Just mind yourself."

I got up from my seat and settled behind her, inspecting the region of interest.

"It will help if I can see the problem," I mentioned.

"Right…"

Slowly, with reluctance, she pulled down the clothing on her shoulder. I was shocked at the sight of what laid beneath.

_By the Hist…!_

Her shoulder was badly burned. The damage to the skin and scales was extensive. Small wonder other healers could not mend the wound. Burns can be trickier to heal with magic than, say, lacerations. Hers had begun to form eschars, leaving large amounts of dead tissue. Therein laid the problem – the arts of restoration can only repair what is still alive. That which is dead falls under the jurisdiction of necromancy. Dar-Meena would likely live with the scars of this wound for the rest of her life.

_What did this to you? _

"Dar-Meena… How long have you had this?" I inquired.

"A few days," she said quietly, uncomfortably. "Can you heal it or not?"

"I will do what I can. Try to relax."

A flash burst from my hands, enveloping the wound in ribbons of light. '_Let the magic do the work,' _I recited in my mind, '_You need only direct it.'_ A healing spell entails a unique sort of intimacy. You course along the smallest breadths of a person's being – plateaus of skin, hollows of bone, rivers of blood – searching to find anything broken.

There was much broken in this shoulder.

Less than a minute passed before I reached the limits of my ability. The bands of light departed. Dar-Meena's shoulder bared little difference in appearance, though I knew that much beneath the surface had been healed. I backed away, taking a seat not far from her. She looked as though she had woken from a pleasant dream.

"How do you feel?" I asked.

She tested her shoulder. It was still tender but the pain had lessened.

"…Better."

"I am sorry I cannot do more."

Dar-Meena eyed me intently.

"Chase, it's fine. Most wouldn't even do _this_ much."

Another lapse into silence ensued. I kept the fire going a while longer for warmth, preventing any smoke from rising. Embers crackled. Dar-Meena rested against her tree. Thin clouds in the dark blue sky trailed along as nocturnal creatures commenced their nightly symphony.

"What brought that burn on your shoulder?" I finally enquired.

Dar-Meena closed her eyes and gave an indignant exhale.

"You would ask that, wouldn't you? Fine," she said, turning to me, "if you're so damn curious. I was attacked by a dragon."

I shot upright in my seat. _No…!_

"Xhuth!" I exclaimed softly, snarling at the ground. "Is there no end to them…!?"

"Well, well... look who's taking me seriously. Don't know why I'm surprised."

"How did this happen?"

"Like it's that complicated. I was traveling into Skyrim with a couple of friends." Dar-Meena paused. "Well, not _friends_ really… Acquaintances. The dragon flew in and killed them. I barely escaped with the clothes on my back. Now I'm stuck in Riften."

She gave a quiet laugh, smiling pensively.

"You know what? I'm here for the same reason you are," she said. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

I sat quietly, deeply disturbed at the thought of a dragon attacking Dar-Meena. More of those monsters were still loose. People were getting hurt.

And I was running away from it all.

_You're a coward, Okan-Zeeus. You're letting this happen._

"I'm sorry… Truly I am…"

"What are you sorry for?" The thief glowered at me. "It doesn't matter now. Stop trying so hard to care."

"Dar-Meena, I've faced down a dragon – _two _dragons, since I arrived in Skyrim. I have seen their ferocity. An entire village was burned to the ground before my eyes. Take my sympathy however you will, but hearing this from you? It matters to me."

The thief's eyes betrayed a depth I had not seen before. She stopped and stared at me. I was suddenly less of a stranger. I was someone who understood, who shared her experience; the terror of the dragons.

Mutuality is truly the most magnetic of forces.

"You've seen them…"

"I have."

"You saw one burn down a village? Where?"

"To the west of here. A place called Helgen."

"Shit…! You were at _Helgen_!?"

"You know of it, then. Word travels fast in this province."

"How did you survive?"

"With tenacity."

"And you weren't wounded? How did the dragon not burn you?"

A small, swirling blue light conjured in my hand.

"Restoration magic can do more than heal wounds…"

I leaned forward to stretch my arm into the pit of fire. Dar-Meena peered down in wonder as a ward shimmered from my open palm, pushing the flames back.

"…It can also prevent them."

Dar-Meena fell against her tree again. I finished the demonstration, pulling out my uninjured arm. She was about to say something before she quickly changed her mind.

"How'd you learn spellcasting?" she asked. "Did someone teach you? Or did you teach yourself?"

"I was taught by a healer in Black Marsh. She conferred to me the basics. I was… a slow study. Everything since then has been self-taught." I watched my spell wisp and whorl. "I have had a lot of time to practice."

The young thief hugged her knees to her chest. She looked small, curled up in her tail, gazing into the fire with glistening yellow eyes.

"Must be nice, having magic like that," the thief said softy. "I'll bet people like you for it."

"Healers are well met by most," I replied, dropping my spell.

"But you aren't one, are you? Not really."

I stared off at the darkened forest. "I wanted to be. Once."

Dar-Meena leaned her head to the side, trying to glimpse my face. "What stopped you?"

…

I almost told her. I wanted to. I never tell anyone.

"That story is more involved. It's getting late," I said, smiling warmly. "I think we have talked enough for one day. Get some rest, Dar-Meena. I'll keep watch tonight."

Her disappointment was visible, but Dar-Meena shrugged it off. "So how do we do this? Take turns staying up?"

"I said I will keep watch. You may sleep."

Dar-Meena frowned. "Chase, you can't stay awake the whole night."

That was not up to me. I could feel it. The nightmares would come again. Having lived with them for so many years, I learned to notice the signs. There would be no rest in sleep. Only torment. That was something I did not want Dar-Meena to see.

"I've spent many sleepless nights in the wild. It is no strain. You needn't worry yourself with me."

Dar-Meena let out a huff. "Don't push yourself, Chase," she warned, unrolling a sleeping pallet. "I can't have you nodding off on the walk tomorrow."

"Xhu. Understood," I said.

"And don't you dare try anything tonight."

I sighed. "You still do not trust me, do you?"

The young thief eased her gaze, looking at me once more with an air of expectation. Or perhaps it was something else. A deeper wanting.

"Keep working on it," she said.

I poured water over the fire, dousing its remnants. Dar-Meena slipped inside her pallet, fidgeting to find a comfortable position. A few times I caught her watching me through nearly closed eye-lids. I refrained from doing anything but sitting. She eventually fell asleep, as told by her soft snoring. Solitude at last. I stayed awake, alone in my thoughts.

Was I to thank the young woman for telling me of her dragon encounter? Though disturbing to my ears, it reaffirmed a truth I willfully denied. The dragons would not simply disappear. They needed to be stopped. And I… I was capable of stopping them. More than anyone perhaps, if I truly was…

…_Dragonborn… _

The night was not still. Wind howled through the trees. I summoned my ward spell in an upright palm, keeping its light dim. The soft blue glow illumed twisted figures in the forest. I could never shake the feeling of being watched. So many blades have tried to end my life during nights like this. Safety was a cruel illusion.

Why was I running? What difference would it make where I was? What peace could _Solstheim _possibly offer?

I stared at the magic in my hand, fighting the urge to keep it glowing for just a while longer. The day had left me feeling nostalgic. I wanted to lose myself in that world of old memories, remembering days of practicing magic, sunlight glistening off of still river water and emerald green scales.

_They're waiting for you. The Greybeards._

"I have to go back," I whispered to myself. For Dar-Meena. For Ralof. For Balgruuf, Irileth and Farengar. For_ everyone_. I was needed in Skyrim.

The light faded. Darkness returned. My dear, traitorous friend…

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_The "bucket/pail" thing was my creation, a reflection of dialectics in the north and south United States. It is in no way canon to the lore. I just find it weird that Tamriel wouldn't have its fair share of dialectic differences._


	32. Arc 2 - Chapter 8

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 8 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Loredas, 31st of Last Seed 4E 201_

I steadied my horse to a trot and took in the sight of Dragonsreach. The great porch of the palace faced northern plains, towering high atop a natural rock formation. It was an architectural wonder. Guards standing in a lonely watchtower eyed me as I rounded the paved roads of Whiterun's outskirts.

The journey south had been long and tiresome. Winterhold had no horses to sell, which forced me to walk the distance to Windhelm. I procured a young chestnut mare from an Altmer stable master and continued on my way in earnest. The weather was not accommodating but far from unbearable, rife with strong gales and the occasional flurry of snow. Few dangers were encountered along the way.

At last I entered the walls of Whiterun. The city and its populace spoke silently of a great catastrophe. Many buildings displayed damage and hasty repairs. Skies were grey and cloudy. Chill winds blew intermittently through the streets, ushering sounds of fluttering banners and creaking market signs swinging on their hinges. People gathered around fire pits lit for warmth rather than light.

I spoke with several of Whiterun's citizens. Their accounts painted a harrowing picture of the dragon attack. Instead of finding answers, though, I was left with more questions. Why did the dragon attack such a heavily fortified city all by itself? It largely ignored the surrounding landscape, including farmlands. Did it choose to disregard these easy targets?

I knew too little to guess the nature of its motives, but the dragon was dead and Whiterun was still intact. Whatever its goal might have been it failed to achieve it. Unless it meant simply to strike terror…

While questioning witnesses, I was surprised to hear repeated mentions of a dragon _killer_. The details and stories were too conflicting for me to reach a clear conclusion, though this much was certain: the death of the dragon was instigated not by the city guard but by the intervention of a single man. There were many wild claims about who exactly this man was. 'Dragonborn' was a word mentioned more than once.

I needed to investigate this. After spending my morning in the lower districts, I sought an audience with the Jarl's court wizard. There were hints that he was conducting research into the dragons. The thought of conversing with a fellow colleague had its appeal. I hoped that a more intellectual perspective on the attack would offer clarity.

Stepping into the great hall of Dragonsreach, I admired its scale and structural design. The palace sported exquisite woodwork and stone masonry. Indeed, even the bricks had their charm; this coming from a woman who spent decades of her life living in a mushroom tower. At the end of the great hall, a sight caught my breath.

A _dragon's skull _was on display above the Jarl's empty throne! I thought at first that it belonged to the dragon that attacked the city, though I would soon be corrected.

A conversation in one of the hall's adjoining wings prompted my ear.

"You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier…"

The court wizard spoke excitedly from his laboratory. His back was turned and I couldn't see who he was speaking to. Against my better judgment I eavesdropped on the conversation, approaching the edge of the doorway, staff clutched in both hands against my chest.

"…I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other later texts."

"Good," replied the stern voice of a woman. "I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

"Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research."

"Time is _running_, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back."

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable..."

I felt it was time to make my presence known, worrying the guards might find my behavior suspicious. I stepped inside. The laboratory was full of research materials stacked high on tables; old tomes, textbooks, notes, and a handful of alchemical alembics. Candles provided light instead of windows, for the clouded sun had little to give.

Farengar stood perusing a book in his hands, dressed in simple blue robes. The woman with him wore tight-fitting travel clothes and hid herself inside the shadow of a brown cloak. She was leaning over a table, hands spread apart, inspecting some sort of large stone slab riddled with markings.

The mage continued speaking. "Now, let me show you something else I found... very intriguing..."

"You have a visitor," the woman declared, standing upright. She was quick to see me enter. Farengar followed her gaze.

"Hmm? Yes? And who are you?" he asked.

I opened my mouth to speak.

"Can't you see we're in the middle of a conversation?" Farengar interrupted. He turned to the woman. "Please excuse this disturbance. The guards assured me we wouldn't have any visitors. I'll fetch someone to send her away."

The cloaked woman monitored my movements closely.

"I think I'll take my leave," she said. "You know where to find me. Just send a copy when you've deciphered the stone." She left the mage's presence without another word, walking past me on her way out. I glanced at the woman and she at me.

The glare of her blue-grey eyes spoke a clear message: '_You and I have nothing to say to each other._'

That left me alone with the court wizard. I felt some concern. Would he still speak with me? I must have interrupted something sensitive. My staff clopped in step with my feet as I entered the laboratory. Farengar frowned disapprovingly.

"What are you still doing here?" he said. "Away with you! I am a very busy man."

"A wizard is always busy," I replied. "I'm sorry for the interruption, but there is a matter I wish to–"

"You have interrupted enough for one day. Perhaps you didn't hear me. I wish to be left alone. Now be gone!"

Before I could say any more, I caught the glint of a glossy object at the back of the room. I stared at it and gasped.

"For gods' sake! What are you doing!?" I exclaimed, rushing over to an enchanting table. A crystal rested on its lip. It was triclinic, larger than my fist, reflecting tints of blue and purple. I snatched it away and marched up to Farengar with a look of ire.

"You would leave a filled soul gem inches away from an unwarded pentacle?" I scolded, holding the crystal up to the mage's face. "Are you insane!?"

He backed away, flabbergasted. "What? I would never–"

"I should hope _not_! Even a _novice _ought to know the basic properties of morpholiths and catalytic enchanters! Why, you could have destroyed this entire laboratory!"

A guard out in the hall walking by poked his head through the doorway. I shall stand in defense of my outburst. That wizard was an imbicile! Soul gems are not to be carelessly tossed about one's work space. They are volatile conduits, especially in the presence of enchanting runes. Without a ward over the pentacle to act as a safeguard, that soul gem could have triggered the enchanting table's melding process, _without_ a receiving object for the gem's soul to meld with. The result would be a destructive dispersal of magicka, like pulling apart the walls of a water trough.

I set the crystal down on the table and awaited the wizard's excuse.

"I… can see you are a fellow enchanter," Farengar said begrudgingly. "I must have been lost in my research when I set that aside. An honest mistake. Try reprimanding less loudly next time."

_Not likely to happen,_ I thought. I really should scold with less volume and more composure, but nothing peeves me more than a lack of respect for the arcane. Magical artifacts are dangerous! They demand the respect they deserve. In the interest of transparency, I shall mention that my peers love to assert that I am over cautious. Some go so far as to call me a 'Betty Netch.' I don't find the comparison as amusing as they do.

"Yes, well… I am sorry, for this and the interruption earlier," I said. "I had no intent to disturb you."

Farengar folded his arms. "If you insist on being here, I would like to know your name."

"Falura Telvanni Andrilo," I replied, staff held upright with a hand behind my back. "I presume you are Farengar Secret-Fire, the Jarl's court wizard."

"Ah. House Telvanni. I had you figured for a mage," he remarked with self-satisfaction. Really! Did the guise of my staff and robes suggest a tavern wench? The nerve of that man…

"You are conducting research into the dragons. Is this correct?" I asked.

"Technically speaking, yes. Why? You are not here to plagiarize my work, are you?"

"Certainly not! I do share an interest in dragons, though. I don't expect you to take my word on that." I retrieved my notes on the white dragon from my satchel and rested them on the table near the soul gem. "Have a moment to read these, if you would. Tell me if you should find their contents useful to your research."

The court wizard hoisted the bundle into his hand and began skimming pages. He flipped through hurriedly at first. Then, little by little, he slowed his pace. Farengar's expression relaxed as he took his time perusing my work.

"Is this your writing?" he asked. Again with that damnable wizard! As though my _mother_ would have written those documents.

"They are my recorded observations," I said. "I have come here to propose a collaboration, in the hope that we may learn from one another."

"These are impressive field notes," the mage mused aloud. "You leave out no details. I would very much find these useful. Though the sketcheds leave something to be desired."

"I am afraid I can't much help that," I replied. I'm a scientist, not an artist. Not to suggest that the two are mutually exclusive. "I won't be in town for long, but I will allow you time to copy my work for yourself. In return I would ask a small favor."

Farengar laid the papers on a table. "As you wish. I won't turn down a seeker of knowledge. What is it you want?"

"Information about the dragon that attacked this city. I was hoping you might have some recordings of your own."

"The Jarl kept me here in the palace, unfortunately. I envy you the chance to have witnessed a dragon up close. It must have been an amazing experience."

"Amazing isn't the word I would use. I'm not sure how I would have handled a dragon sieging a _city_, let alone a troupe of soldiers…"

"Well, there is always the aftermath. Less violent at least. Perhaps you would like to see what became of the dragon?"

My curiosity was piqued, as was my excitement.

"I certainly would," I said, trying not to smile too broadly.

We walked together to an upper section of Dragonsreach. Scents of stew and garnish strayed from a kitchen. Coal pits were left unlit, as few people were about. The hall was nearly void of sunlight and color. What ought to have been a bright and dazzling palace felt more like a dull crypt.

Farengar explained that we were heading to the Jarl's war room. Before I could ask why, we reached the top of a staircase where I saw, resting on a table, _another_ dragon skull. Its mouth was propped open in menacing fashion, revealing a full set of sharp teeth. Other assorted bones were on display along with charcoal sticks and sketch paper. A guardsman was stationed on watch nearby.

"This is everything we were able to collect," Farengar said, gesturing toward the remains. "Looters and thieves sadly made off with the rest."

My anticipation suddenly insatiable, I hurried to the bones and hovered over them with keen eyes. I rubbed my hand on the skull, admiring the marrow's complete lack of brittleness. The surface was smooth yet subtly granular. By contrast its dark horns were gritty to the touch.

"Long weathered horns… distinct jawline… The form is completely unmistakable!" I began inspecting other samples. "And this… This must be a segment of tail bone. Along with a set of ribs, and… Is that a wing? Goodness I can't tell, but these bones are remarkable!"

The wizard seemed proud of his collection. Yet something struck me as odd…

"Farengar, weren't any efforts made to preserve the dragon's corpse? Are there no skin or scale samples? Why only bones?"

He rubbed his temple. "I, uh, only know what the Jarl's housecarl told me. When the dragon was slain, the Dragonborn absorbed some sort of power from it. This caused the dragon's body to burst into flames, burning away its flesh."

I halted my inspection briefly, unable to fathom the inner workings of such a process.

"Why… that screams of powerful magic," I said. "If what you say is accurate, I would wish to observe this absorption process for myself. And you're telling me the dragon slayer was _Dragonborn_? The stories are true?"

"The Greybeards summoned him to High Hrothgar. Perhaps you heard their call. It happened about a week ago."

"How could I forget? I was in Winterhold at the time," I said, hurrying to think of another inquiry. "This Dragonborn… did you meet him, by chance?"

"Oh yes. As a matter of fact, he was tremendously helpful with my research. The Argonian managed to–"

I baulked at the wizard.

"_Argonian_?"

"Hm? Of course. You spoke with others about the attack, didn't you? Surely someone corroborated this."

Yes, someone _had. _There was a woman who claimed the dragon killer was a red scaled Argonian. She said that he had frightened her, though I dismissed her story.

"That's… impossible," I said, brow lowered in doubt. "There is no such thing as an Argonian Dragonborn."

"You speak out of ignorance," Farengar scoffed.

"I have done my research. All known Dragonborn in recorded history have been of either Nordic or Imperial descent. The trait is hereditary. Its last known ancestry ended with Martin Septim. Do you mean to suggest that the royal dragon blood somehow survived its way into Black Marsh?"

The wizard scratched his beard. "Well, when you put it _that_ way…"

"Even if the bloodline somehow reached those lizards and stayed dormant for hundreds of years, numerous studies on racial phylogeny have discounted–"

"You are missing the point," Farengar interrupted. "When the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible."

I hesitated.

"I… Yes… Yes, yes, I see what you mean. I am spouting conjecture."

Scientific assumptions are never fixed. They are changed and revised and new data is compiled. I needed to be reminded of that, though I found it no easier to accept this information.

An Argonian Dragonborn… I couldn't even imagine such a terrible thing…

"Let's change the subject," I said. "Do we know anything more about why the dragon attacked this city?"

"No."

"What _do_ we know, then?"

"Very little, I'm afraid."

"You were showing something to that woman earlier…"

"The Dragonstone? Or the translated 'Holdings of Jarl Gjalund?'"

_Does he presume I know what those are?_

"Either… Or both."

"I'll put it simply. My associate is investigating ancient dragon burial sites. It was her intelligence that allowed us to recover a map of their locations – the Dragonstone. She seems to be interested in matters related to the Dragon War."

"Dragon War?"

"Indeed. I'm not surprised you've never heard of it. Even _I_ used to think it was just a myth. But not anymore. The Dragon War was a real event, although only the barest glimmer of the actual events has come down to us.

"Far back in the Mythic Era, the dragons were worshiped as gods in Skyrim. Many of the monumental ruins that still dot Skyrim's landscape were, in fact, built as temples to the dragons. The details are lost, but at some point the Nords rebelled. After a long and terrible war, the Nords overthrew their dragon overlords."

"You're confident the burial grounds date back to that period?" I interjected. "The Nords couldn't have killed every last dragon."

"Oh no. Many were killed, of course, but many others survived into historical times. Why, this very palace was built by one of Balgruuf's ancestors to hold a captive dragon. Hence its name. Dragonsreach."

"What's this? _Capturing a dragon_? How is that possible?"

Farengar motioned me to follow him. We walked to the other side of the room toward a _set of large double doors, which he briefly opened to look through. They led to the palace's great_ porch as I had seen from the road. My eyes gazed upon an enormous contraption in the shade of a vaulted chamber. Thick iron chains suspended a curved board of wood up to the ceiling. The mechanism was reinforced with metal and could contain a dragon in similar fashion to a pillory, locking the board to the dragon's neck.

I never would have suspected such engineering to come from the Nords, let alone from those in ancient times. There was some doubt as to whether the device had ever actually kept a dragon captive, but the dragon skull above the Jarl's throne seemed sufficient proof.

"Will you look at that," I whispered. "If only we could lure one here..."

"Perhaps some hero will find a way, like old Olaf One-Eye once did," Farengar chuckled, closing the door. "Can you imagine talking to a live dragon? What a fascinating conversation _that _would be! Ah well… I suppose we will have to settle for the company of bones."

A disgruntled drone began my reply.

"Bones are well and good," I said, "but these dragons are a serious threat. I'm not willing to settle for half an understanding. We need to study the full physiology of these creatures if we want to fight them properly."

The wizard snorted. "And how will we do this?"

I looked Farengar straight in the eye.

"If we can't study one alive, we must study one _dead_. That's all there is to it. Killing a dragon is the next step."

Farengar coughed.

"An interesting fantasy. Perhaps you can wait and see if another one attacks Whiterun."

_He thinks this task is beyond me… _

"Why bother with tedium? I already know where to find one," I asserted. "The dragon I recorded in my notes was spotted near Mount Anthor. If I return there, I am confident I could track it down. More than that. I will."

The mage could see I was being serious. Still he doubted.

"I… commend your ambition," he said. "I also question your good sense. We can't capture a dragon, but killing one won't be much easier."

…_and he may be right._

"Agreed," I sighed. "I certainly can't kill the dragon alone."

"I don't think the Whiterun guard is up for hire," Farengar quipped matter-of-factly, "unless, that is, you plan on finding an army somewhere else."

"I don't want an army," I said. "A company of legionaries couldn't stand up to the beast. This task will require more than sheer numbers. I need the assistance of experienced warriors. It's a shame that Dragonborn is no longer here. He could have made a useful recruit."

The wizard coughed again. I assumed he wouldn't volunteer himself.

"Well, I'm afraid I don't have much advice to give you. If you think you have the coin for it, I suppose you could try hiring the Companions."

I turned to the mage. "Come again? Who are the Companions?"

Farengar shrugged. "A bawdy group of mercenaries. They call themselves warriors of valor. I'm not sure what people see in them, but they're well renowned in Skyrim. For what that's worth."

It wasn't worth much, not the way _he_ phrased it. Renown can come from many things legitimate or otherwise. It would not hurt, though, to investigate these Companions further.

"Interesting," I said. "Tell me more about them."


	33. Arc 2 - Chapter 9

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 9 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

"Look out below!"

A handful of iron nails fell through the roof of Jorrvaskr and landed right in the dining hall's fire pit. Those were the last ones I had. I groaned. I'd have to go get some more from Eorlund over at the Skyforge.

So, funny story! I became a Companion, right? It was like a dream come true. I was a warrior of Ysgramor, sitting at the table with some of the finest men and women Skyrim had to offer. I mean literally sitting at the table. We were eating dinner. There weren't any jobs or contracts to take, so all we had was downtime. The bunch of us were striking up some nice conversation, good laughs, everything's swell. Then I mentioned for some reason that I used to be a carpenter's aid in my youth.

Well, the Companions were _thrilled _to hear this! It's like the gods themselves had sent me to save them from their woes! I was a man who knew how to work wood! Praise Talos!

So they threw me up on their busted roof the next day and told me to fix it.

Over a dozen planks of wood. Individually sized. To be shaped and replaced.

Did I mention the roof of Jorrvaskr is curved? You know how wood gets curved? You soak it, then heat it. You have to heat-bend the wood. And you have to know what _type_ of wood you're working with. It's a craft that demands patience and experience.

There was only one thought on my mind…

_I haven't worked a piece of wood in over twelve years, dammit!_

I'm as handy as the next Nord, but I'm no miracle man! I didn't have the means to pull off the kind of patch job those Companions were asking for. But that's where Eorlund Grey-Mane stepped in to help. Bless that old man's heart. He provided the water and heat, along with a hammer and nails to work with.

Couldn't have picked a gloomier day to work outdoors. No sun, all clouds. Cold wind too. I reviewed my handiwork thus far before climbing back down. Miserable. My repairs looked as good as warts on a wench. It was gonna take more than some spit and an amateur to fix all the damage. Most of it was scorch marks that I had to leave alone. If I tackled those along with the broken boards, I'd have to build a new Jorrvaskr. Kinda surprised I didn't have to in the first place, remembering what was left of Helgen's wood lodgings.

But who was I kidding? This wasn't just any old rooftop. Vilkas told me the Dragonborn made his stand on top of Jorrvaskr, played chicken with the dragon. That must've taken some hard stones. You know… if lizards have those. I still couldn't wrap my head around it! The Dragonborn was an _Argonian._

I've been told the gods work in mysterious ways, but… Well, maybe I just don't know what mysterious is. If the Dragonborn really was Argonian, though, I trusted there was a good reason for it. The Nine have always done what's best for us.

_Bet he's up at High Hrothgar right now, mastering his Thu'um with the Greybeards,_ I thought as my feet touched the ground.

I went over to the Skyforge where Eorlund was busy sharpening an axe on his grindstone. He was an old and tired looking man but hardy, with a thick beard and long unkempt hair. Smoke rose into the air from beneath a giant, carved stone eagle. The great forge glowed beneath the shadow of its outstretched wings.

"Got any more nails?" I called out to the blacksmith.

"Hrm? What happened to the ones I gave you?" he replied in a deep voice.

"Should I take that as a no?"

"Did that sound like a no, boy?"

"They fell in the fire pit. If you don't got any more, I'll go fish for the ones I dropped."

Eorlund lifted his foot from his grind pedal and gave me a dismal look.

"You ain't much of a wood worker, are you?" he said.

I paused, looked over at Jorrvaskr, then back at the smith.

"Don't tell me you're just now figuring that out."

The smith went back to work and shook his head, eyelids low and eyebrows raised. I shrugged. "Alright then… I'll go find a bucket of water." Hoped the others wouldn't mind if I put their fire out for a while. I turned to leave, made a few steps, then stopped and turned back. I had the sudden urge to speak my mind.

"This is some kinda initiation, isn't it? I know how these things go. New guy joins a fancy guild and gets sacked with the dirty work." I pointed my thumb back at the mead hall. "They treat all new bloods like this?"

"Oh, don't worry too much about it," the old man said. "Vilkas, Aela and the rest – they were all whelps once. They just might not like to talk about it."

"Aye. Who would?"

"And don't always just do what you're told," he added. "Around here, you learn to live your own life. Nobody rules anybody in the Companions. Every man is his own, every woman her own."

"Ha!" I laughed. "Easy for you to say. You're not a Companion."

"Who says I have to be?" the old man scoffed.

I left the Skyforge satisfied with our conversation. The training grounds behind Jorrvaskr were barren of people. I thought I'd heard sparring going on not too long ago. _Must've all gone inside_. I looked around for a bucket behind the training dummies, under tables, and near bushes. Not a single one in sight. Time to go check the dining hall.

I stepped into Jorrvaskr, creaking through the doorway and dusting my boots off. I caught sight of a group of fellows talking by the fire.

"Hey, any of you know where to find a bucket?" I asked.

No reply. Giving a second glance, it looked like something important was happening. Vilkas, Farkas and a couple of other Companions – the drunken misfit Torvar and the sharp tongued Njada – were squabbling with a woman, a Dark Elf in ornate orange robes. She looked like one of those college mages with a satchel full of papers and a fancy wizard staff. I walked up to butt in on the conversation.

"Who's this?" I asked.

"Some woman who thinks she can come here and demand our services for nothing," Vilkas said.

"_You_ are the one who refuses to take my offer," she scorned. Her voice sounded stately and poised. "Why, moments ago you sounded enthused…"

"That was before you told us you couldn't pay up front," Torvar said.

"You'll have your full pay when the task is complete," the Dark Elf replied. "Or is my down payment so unreasonably low?"

"Depends," I interrupted. "How much are we talking?"

The woman looked at me.

"Around two thousand Septims worth of polished gems," she said.

"Oh-ho! And that's the down payment? Don't sound too bad to me!" I remarked, eyeing Vilkas. He flung me a dirty look. _Do not take her side,_ it said. Farkas kept quiet.

"She insists on hiring a group. That down payment isn't much if you split it so many ways." Vilkas turned to the woman again. "You told us the rest of your money is in Morrowind. What's it going to take for us to get it? I don't like jumping through hoops."

"The transaction wouldn't be difficult," the Dark Elf insisted. "I give you a signed missive and my estate will comply with it. They'll send you your payment with a secure transport."

"Why should we believe you _have_ an estate?" Njada snapped. "Or that it's as wealthy as you say?"

The woman rubbed her temple. "We can argue back and forth till the sun sets. The terms of my request will not change. If you're so worried about making a profit, I'm sure you could sell some of the creature's remains…"

"Remains?" I said, puzzled. "What are we hunting?"

"She wants us to kill a _dragon_," Vilkas replied.

_She wants us to…_

I stared at the woman.

"A dragon," I repeated, trying to contain myself. "You know where to find a dragon?"

"Yes," she said. "I am conducting research into the dragons and need a specimen to study. Since there's no hope of capturing one alive, a cadaver will have to suffice. But I can't do this alone."

"You're sure you know its location?" Vilkas retorted. "Plenty of people like to cry dragon these days."

"I saw it with my own eyes. I know where it will be."

"You know where it _might be_. Dragons can fly. Or did you not know that? What happens if we cannot find it?"

"That is risk we must take."

"Another dragon could come to Whiterun and attack while we're gone. Have you considered _that_ risk? There are people in this town who look to us for protection. You need to convince me more that this dragon hunt is worth our time."

The mage looked pensive. Worried.

"I… I don't know how I could convince you any more," she said.

"Sorry to hear that," Vilkas replied.

The Companions were turning down the chance to kill a dragon. I was hearing that right. It felt like my blood was boiling hot enough to bubble out of my ears. Even if the woman wasn't being honest and the whole thing turned out to be a fluke, would that be _our_ fault?

_Is this what the honor of the Companions has come to? 'We'll do it when it suits us?' _

Ysmir's beard, I'd heard enough.

"Bah! Forget these cowards," I barked. "I'll take the job!"

There were groans of embarrassment.

"Here we go…" Vilkas grumbled.

"I'm sorry," the mage said to me, raising her hand. "You are…?"

"Reinhardt," I said with a confident smirk. "Just call me Reinhardt."

"Yes, Reinhardt… I certainly appreciate your willingness, but…"

"But what? You came looking for warriors, aye?" I thumped a fist against my chest. "Here's one right in front of you!"

The woman hesitated, brushing a wisp of dark hair from her face. "You seem much more… excitable than the others."

"She wants to hunt a _dragon_, in case you didn't hear her," a new voice spoke from behind. It was Aela. She walked up beside me. "Not the wisest choice of prey for a new blood."

The Dark Elf made a silent _ah-h-h. _"So you are new among this group?" she said to me.

I winced. "Do I look like a fresh young lad to you? I know my way around a sword."

"Like you told us you knew how to work wonders with wood?" Vilkas muttered, eyes flipping up toward the ceiling. It was my turn to toss _him_ a dirty look.

_I tell you, with 'companions' like these…_

Now that I think of it, though, I was a little drunk when I mentioned that bit about me being a carpenter's aid. I might have, uh, exaggerated some things.

"Please, enough of this," the Dark Elf said. "I need a _group_ of warriors at my side, not a single man."

I stepped forward with a sneer.

"Then forget this rabble. We'll find better warriors somewhere else. Just let me know where we're searching next."

That stirred some folks the wrong way. The woman frowned.

"There will be no 'we' in this search, I'm afraid," she stressed.

"Sure there will," I said. "You and me. I go where you go. That's how this works."

"For goodness sake, I haven't even agreed to pay you!"

I bellowed a hardy laugh.

"Pay me? What are you talking about? You can't pay me! I'm _volunteering_!"

"What!?" The mage gripped her staff with both hands. "That's outrageous! Your bravado does you no credit!"

I strode up to the Dark Elf. I was a foot taller than her, and I used that to good effect.

"You think I'm crazy? You think I'm being bold to compensate for something?" My eyes narrowed. "You listen here, lady. My family died to a dragon in Helgen. I should've been home fighting with them, but I was off in Cyrodiil keeping all nice and cozy. That sick truth has been sitting in my stomach for too long. I don't know what you're looking for, but I know what's in this for me. It's got nothing to do with money or honor."

I took a step back, fists clenched.

"I want blood_. _Dragon blood. You bring me with you on your hunt and I swear on my father's grave I'll fight to the end."

Hushed silence. Not even a peep from Vilkas. I don't usually like to gloat, but _damn_ that felt good! I wish I could have moments like that all the time.

"Very well," the Dark Elf said quietly, clutching her staff. "You've made your argument. You are welcome to join me, if it means so much to you."

I turned around and met the stares of my fellow Companions, filled with anger. "You've all faced a dragon before. You're telling me the one man who hasn't is the only willing to fight?"

"Maybe we're not as suicidal," Njada quipped.

"We weren't the ones who killed that dragon, you know," Torvar said somberly.

"So if the Dragonborn hadn't shown up, this city would've met the same fate as Helgen?"

"No," Vilkas growled. "Whiterun has stood for hundreds of years. This city isn't weak. None of us are!"

"Then why aren't we going?" Farkas suddenly asked.

"Now _there's_ the question," Aela chimed in. "Vilkas, what's got you so stubborn today? I'm surprised you didn't take this job the second you heard it. The way you've been going on about wanting to fight another dragon, you're no better than this hot head." She was talking about me.

I like to think I'm better than a hot head. But if anyone else had called me that, I would have punched them. Can't even get _on _a high horse when you're in the Companions. Somebody's always poised to shove you off your seat.

Vilkas huffed. "I don't trust this mage."

"Suit yourself," Aela said emotionlessly. "I'll go where the hunt is."

I beamed. "You're coming with us?"

"Of course I am, you hot head." She regarded the mage. "Sorry, but I won't be volunteering like him. Is your offer still good?"

The Dark Elf nodded. "It hasn't gone bad. Eight thousand Septims, as I said. I hope you won't mind if the payment isn't strictly Imperial currency."

_WHAT!? Eight thousand! She was offering…!?_

…

You know, I regret a lot of things.

Farkas looked over at his brother. "I want to go too," is what he said with his mouth. _'And you're coming with me,'_ is what he said with his stare. Vilkas groaned. He knew where this was going – he'd been poked and nudged by all the right people. Every stubborn Nord has his weak spots.

"Alright. The rest of you should say here," Vilkas muttered to the other Companions. "I don't want anyone else outside the Circle going on this hunt." Njada and Torvar resigned. The two brothers walked up to us.

"You've reconsidered?" The mage asked with a smile.

"I'll go," Farkas said.

Vilkas crossed his arms.

"Looks like you've got yourself four Companions," he finally declared. "I hope that's enough for you. So… when do we do this?"

"We can leave for Mount Anthor tomorrow," the Dark Elf replied. "I have no need to stay here any longer than you do. I recommend we travel by horse. The journey is not terribly long, but it won't be pleasant."

Mount Anthor? Ysmir, I hadn't even asked about the where and whens for this job. I'd forgotten to ask a bunch of things…

"Hey lady," I said, "you didn't mention your name, did you?"

The woman stood a little taller. She seemed happy.

"I have not told it to _you_, Reinhardt. My name is Falura. I think I owe you an apology. You've played a part in convincing your comrades to join me, for which I am grateful. I was too quick to write you off as over-eager."

"Don't write him off too soon," Aela said. "He's still got plenty of proving to do."

"Oh, I know," I replied with a sly grin.

Vilkas cleared his throat. "Is there anything you'd like to tell us about this dragon we're hunting?"

Falura thought it over for a moment.

"I need to return to Dragonsreach and retrieve my notes. They will be in your hands by night fall, should you wish to look them over. I would have you all know something for now." She paused for emphasis. "The dragon we will be hunting – I have seen how it kills its prey. This is a cunning and powerful creature we're going after, but I believe we can devise a strategy to defeat it. If any of you possess any means that might give us an upper hand in our fight, don't be silent about them. We will need every advantage we can get."

Vilkas and Aela exchanged glances. Farkas kept quiet. I stretched my back.

"We fight the dragon on our terms," I spoke with gleeful menace. "Sounds good to me."

After a few final questions from the group, we went our separate ways to prepare for the night. I couldn't shake off the excitement! Sure it was terrifying, but that's the best kind of excitement. The kind that reminds you you're mortal. That there are no second chances. Only the strong survive.

This hunt promised a test of strength like no other.

This was gonna be good!


	34. Arc 2 - Chapter 10

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 10 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

"So this is it… Stonefalls Hollow." Chase lowered his telescope, taking in the scene.

"Must be. Fits what Delvin described," I said.

In the shade of a thicket, beneath cloudy skies, we spied our destination from a distance. A steep path swerved up the cliff ahead beside a large waterfall. I could hear it hissing down rocky slopes. The hollow turned out to be just that, a cavern going deep into the mountainside.

"This one would have preferred something other than a cave," Chase remarked cheerlessly.

I raised an eyebrow. "Got a problem with caves?"

"I have no fondness for them." He peered again through his scope. "There are two men standing by the entrance." Chase passed over the instrument to me. I took a peek at the mouth of the cave and saw a couple of Nords standing around, wearing chain mail armor under vests of leather and blue cloth. Both had steel swords at their waists.

"Matching uniforms. Weird," I muttered. "They look like Riften guards."

"Not quite," Chase said. "They're donning the leather and mail of Stormcloaks."

Stormcloaks. I'd heard of them. They were those rebels trying to oust the Empire from Skyrim. I didn't like being reminded that a civil war was going on. As if there weren't enough things to worry about.

"You're sure?" I asked.

Chase's eyes narrowed. "About the uniforms, yes, but not the men wearing them. I have reason to suspect this place." I couldn't see what gave him that impression, but he knew things that I didn't. He insisted on leaving me in the dark.

"What happens now?" I said, shifting my tail. Chase thought long and hard to himself.

"I need to get into that cave," he said. "I'm going to ask those two if I can come inside."

I glared at him. "What makes you think they'll let you in?

"I will ask politely."

"That's stupid. I'm coming with you."

Chase stood up. "No. I have no knowledge of what lies ahead. It could be dangerous."

"So?"

He looked down at me. "I don't want to put you at risk. I made a promise you wouldn't be harmed on this trip."

I rolled my eyes. "After all this, I'm supposed to just sit here and wait? I don't get to find out why I even came here?"

"You've fulfilled your obligation. I require nothing else from you."

_Augh! What's with this guy!?_ _Just when I think I'm warming up to him…_

"Look, I know I did this for the money, but I don't like getting kept out of the loop," I said, irritated. "And I'm not helpless. I can handle myself in danger."

"Dar-Meena, you will not change my mind on this matter," he replied sternly. "Find a place to lay low for a while. If I'm not back by sunset, leave. Understand?"

I groaned. "Fine." There was no getting through to him. I didn't have an angle.

Chase pulled up his hood and followed the path to the hollow. I stayed low, watching him anxiously. By the time he made half the distance, he started plodded along with slow arduous steps. It looked like his knapsack had somehow gained weight. Then I realized what it really was. _He's pretending to have something heavy in his bag. What for?_ The two men on guard duty saw Chase coming up. He obviously wanted to be seen. One of the Nords came over, halting him with a raised hand.

There was an exchange of dialogue. I couldn't make out what they were saying. Chase showcased his bag to the men, who both looked at each other before waving him up. Whatever he was doing seemed to be working. They were letting Chase into the hollow.

_Were they expecting him? What's going on here?_

The three walked together into the dark cave. Wind rustled through the trees. I had nothing left to do but sit around and wait. Fantastic. I planted myself on a rock and sulked. Even if Chase thought there'd be danger in that cave, I hated the thought that he saw me as a liability. He was looking for someone, right? Why couldn't I help him?

_Because he's hiding something from you, that's why,_ I thought to myself._ Something shady. He insists on all this damn cloak and dagger_.

Chase seemed honest so far, but I knew how quickly that could end. All it takes is one smudge to ruin the streak. I used to think that trust was worth the risks it came with. It took Barnaxi to show me how naïve I was. Even after we split I thought I could trust his word. Two years together had to count for something.

What did that trust leave me with? A knife in my gut and three deaths on my conscience.

Words are cheap. I needed to find my own answers.

I got up and made for the hollow. Chase didn't want me in that cave, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. I'd keep out of sight. Poking around where you're not supposed to is what thieves do for a living.

A dark and dank tunnel met me at the mouth of the cave, filled with echoing roars of the waterfall. The walls were narrow and the ceiling was high. Tiny mushrooms grew in cracks of soil along the rocky floor. I took each step with doubled caution, watching my shadow merge with darkness as I stepped further and further in.

I entered a large cavity. Torches and oil lamps were lit at the far back of the pitch black cave. Their light was my only guide. There were sleeping pallets laid out on the ground near a fire pit kept for cooking. I saw boxes and barrels and sacks of grain in the shadows. Large iron cages were gathered near an alchemy laboratory, torch flames reflecting on blubs of glass. All I could hear were the sounds of babbling ground water.

And the smell! That awful smell! What was it?

_This cave… Why does it remind me of…?_

I stepped in something wet and looked down.

It was a pool of blood.

_Shit!_

The shock made me reel. At my feet were the bodies of two men, the same ones Chase had walked in with. One's head was split open, slammed back against the cave wall. The other bled from a deep slash across his belly. Intestines were spilling out.

_No, no, no… not this! Not this again! It's just like– _

Like another cave I'd been to, up in the dusty hills near Chorrol. Memories came flooding back. What's the first thing I remembered? I was coming to, lying in a puddle of water mixed with blood. The blood was mine. My head throbbed.

_"Ah… You're awake," a familiar voice said. "Do you know where you are? Nosy little rat. You've been here before."_

It was too dark to see well. But I could smell things. Awful things.

_"You took something precious from me. A book. I would very much like it back…"_

A book… _That_ book… How could I possibly forget?

It was my first theft.

Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me into the shadows. I snapped back to my senses and found myself staring at the snout of an angry Argonian.

"If I recall, you _aren't_ hard of hearing," Chase hissed. "Why did you come here?"

"Get off me!" I pushed away, catching my breath. "Gods, are you trying to give me a heart attack!?"

"I would rather that than a sword wound! I told you to lay low!"

Chase was pissed. I didn't have time to worry about that, though.

"What is this!?" I motioned toward the bodies. "Did you kill these people!?"

He glanced at them briefly.

"They tried to ambush me the moment we stepped inside," he snarled.

My heart was pounding. "Why!? Who were they?"

"I do not know. Bandits, maybe."

"Are there any more?" I asked, suddenly wary.

"No. We are alone," he replied.

That was a relief. "Why'd they let you in in the first place?"

He paused. "I mislead them to believe I had wares to trade," Chase said in a somber voice. "They saw I was armed. They still thought they could surprise me."

I shuddered. "You… tricked them into attacking you?"

"It confirmed my suspicions. This cave has a large stockpile of resources. These criminals have been baiting farmers and lumberjacks to come here with their goods. There's no telling how many people have fallen prey…"

"Then you knew! You planned on killing those two from the start!"

Chase shot a menacing glare. He took a step toward me. I stepped back.

"If I truly wanted to kill them," he hissed, "I'd have done it more competently. It was my hope that I _wouldn't_ have to. Perhaps that hope was foolish, but it matters little now." He pointed to the beds over by the torches. "Count those cots. There are seven. These two were part of a larger group. The longer we wait, the more we risk them coming here and finding us."

Chase brought his crossbow to bear and walked toward the back of the cave.

"I am not leaving until I've searched this place thoroughly," he said. "Stay close. I don't want you out of my sight."

_Daedra and divines… what have I gotten myself into?_

I pushed down my fears and kept a stern face. We stepped into the lit portion of the cave. The living amenities laid out were all makeshift. Chase began inspecting containers and barrels, brushing off dirt and dust.

"I thought you came here to find someone, not some_thing_," I said.

"I am looking for a man named Leifnarr, or any evidence that he has been here. Middle aged, average build, pale complexion. Last seen with a trimmed beard. Keep your eyes open for any personal belongings that may have been his – a white bandana, a leather tunic with a patch on the waist, or a silver wedding band."

_He didn't come here without exact details, _I mused. His conduct had become methodical all of a sudden. It seemed very… professional.

Chase lifted the lid off a box. I peered over his shoulder to see inside. There were several sets of Stormcloak uniforms stacked in a pile. "I knew it," Chase muttered. "This is how they've been drawing people here. Establish credibility with the guise of a war effort." He closed the lid and walked over to the alchemy table. I followed. The awful smell was back again.

There were strange ingredients laid out. Some leafy plants and fungal spores, but more importantly slabs of meat, freshly cut.

I grimaced at the rotten stench. "What are those? Animal guts?"

"Human flesh," Chase said coldly. I didn't want to ask how he knew that.

He strolled over to a cluster of glass instruments. Several vials of liquid were laid out, labels tied onto them with pieces of string. Chase picked up one of the containers and popped its top, fanning the scent to his nostrils. His face knotted. He set the vial down.

"This is a powerful paralyzing agent," he said. "These people are brewing potent poisons. For what purpose…?"

"Maybe they're trying to make their dirty work cleaner," I suggested. "They're bandits, right? Why spill blood when you can just poison somebody and take their stuff?"

Chase didn't seem to agree. His eyes were searching around the room.

"Something else is going on here. Something foul," he growled. "We need to cover more ground, and quickly. Check the area over by that oil lamp. I'll see what more I can find near these cages."

As Chase turned away I paused, eyeing the container of poison. _A powerful paralyzing agent, huh? _That sounded useful. I snatched the vial without being noticed, smiling to myself. Stealing was a nice stress reliever.

I passed the cluster of beds and started snooping around the cave. That's when I saw a dark passage leading deeper into the mountain. The smells coming from the entrance were even worse than the ones outside.

"Hey!" I called out. "I've got something! There's another tunnel over here!"

Chase jogged to me and inspected the entrance, weapon ready. We both looked at each other. He grabbed a torch from nearby and led the way as we slowly stepped inside.

What was in that room? I can sum it up with one word: horror.

There was blood _everywhere_. A wooden table was soaked with it, covered in the remains of some mutilated corpse. Other bodies were shackled to the wall with iron chains, hanging bare, pale skinned and filthy. I felt sick to my stomach.

"A torture chamber!?" I whispered.

"Xhuth… zoqthei'aal…" Chase murmured. His tail was rigid. He holstered his crossbow and motioned for me to stay put, walking up to the bodies. His inspection was brief.

"These men and woman died recently," he said. "There are few signs of decay." As he looked closer, his eyes widened at the sight of something. He quickly rushed to check the other bodies.

"What? What is it?" I asked.

"These corpses… Their necks are riddled with _bite marks,_" he said.

_Oh gods…_

I swallowed something down my throat. "You're telling me..."

"This is no mere torture chamber," he hissed.

An uproar of voices filled the cave.

"Over here! I found them!"

"Bastards…! They're both dead!"

Chase immediately dropped his torch and stomped out the light. I could barely see a thing. He grabbed me and pressed us both against the entryway, peering out into the cave's main chamber.

"Someone will bleed for this. Search everything! Now!" a sharp voice commanded.

Lights started moving in the darkness.

"We are in a vampire's lair," Chase spoke softly, almost inaudibly. "I should have known."

I'd never seen a vampire before. I leaned over Chase to get a look for myself. A rag-tag group of men and women were scurrying about, carrying all sorts of blunt and bladed weapons. A cloaked figure was among them, tall enough to be a High Elf, with a pair of glowing yellow eyes that glistened in the dark like stars.

"That's him, isn't it?" I whispered.

"There is only the one. The others must be thralls," he hissed, gently pushing me back, "which means I know where to strike. The thralls are slaves to the vampire by magic. If I kill the monster, their minds will be freed."

Chase gripped the wooden stock of his crossbow. What could I say? Nothing that would stop him, that's for sure. He chanted something to himself.

"Tsarkk xhe nohn'daa..." Chase turned back and made sure I could see the gloss of his eyes as he glared at me. "_Stay. Here._"

Without making a sound, he slinked around the corner and into the cave. I tried to see where he went. No dice. He'd vanished into the shadows. My survival instincts kicked in the instant I realized I was alone. I hunkered down with my knife in hand, heart pulsing in my ears.

Seconds passed but they felt a lot longer. _Where did he go? What is he doing?_ One of the thralls started walking toward me, torchlight bleeding into the chamber. I held my breath.

There was a mechanical sound, the snap of a crossbow. Chase had taken a shot at the vampire. I heard a hard impact on stone followed by a quiet clanking.

"Ha! You thought you could hide from _me?_" the vampire exclaimed.

The shot missed. I couldn't tell you why, but it did.

The thrall near me whipped his attention to a bright flash of red. He ran to his master's aid. I looked out and saw the vampire unleashing some sort of spell from an outstretched hand. It was like a beam of light made of small glowing orbs, drawing toward the vampire. There was another light with it, blue. Chase's ward pushed back against the vampire's magic as he closed the distance to his target.

But the thralls were closing in as well. Everyone was rushing together headlong. I braced for the clash.

"Wait!" the vampire suddenly yelled as he dropped his spell. Everything came to a halt. Chase stood frozen in place, sword drawn and held defensively. He eyed the thralls holding back at their master's bidding.

"Will you speak?" he asked.

Chase said nothing.

The vampire sneered. "Silence. Of course."

Things were looking bad. _Those thralls are going to jump him the second he makes a move! _I wondered if he even had a plan to save himself. Chase wanted me to stay put, but… damn it all, I couldn't stand and watch him get killed! He was one against five! Who could beat those odds?

"You realize you're outnumbered, Argonian. There's nowhere to run."

Kill the vampire and free the thralls. That's what he'd said. Was it really that simple?

Even I could do that.

…_I could do that._

I readied my bow.

_Fuck it._

"Tell me… why have you come here?"

I snuck into position at the back of the cave, picking a spot with clear vantage. My hands were trembling. Tsariba taught me how to calm myself in moments like this. I steadied my breathing and felt the soft fletching of my arrow between my fingers as I drew to aim.

"Was it the Dawnguard? Have they sent you to kill me?"

Tension built in the string at my claw tips. I pointed my arrowhead at the vampire's eyes, two glowing targets in the dark.

"I kill for no one," Chase growled.

_Here we go._

Release. The arrow sailed true and struck the vampire's skull. He stumbled to the floor. _Yes! _A perfect shot! Chase spun around in surprise. The thralls stood motionless, gazing at the body of their former master.

So much for the scary monster. Not bad for a liability, either. I think I proved my usefulness.

_Now the thralls will– _

Spine-chilling screams filled the cave. The thralls raised their weapons and rushed Chase all at once. He barely had time to flinch.

_…What!?_

I felt the blood drain from my face. I thought I'd killed him. I tried to save him and I killed him.

Weapons clanged. Cavern walls were splattered and stained red. Torchlight flashed on metal. It was a slaughter.

The thralls were dropping like flies.

Chase was untouchable, parrying every blow and seizing every opening. One by one he cut them down and ended their cries. Swiftly, mercilessly. It was almost unreal the way he killed them. He made it look _easy_. The last man was struck with a rising slash. Chase held his sword up at the peak of its arc and watched him stumble back, before he dropped to the floor with a sickening thud. Chase's arm fell back to his side.

Then he just… stood there. I could see him panting in the cave's dim glow, soaked in blood, clutching his sword. He wouldn't look at me as I walked up to him. He was staring numbly at the man he'd slain.

"Daedra and Divines… Chase are… are you okay?"

"This is the one… The man I came here to find," he said quietly, almost to himself.

The dead Nord lying at his feet was lanky and unshaven, but definitely middle aged. He wasn't wearing any of the clothing Chase had mentioned, except for a silver wedding band on his finger.

"I killed him…"

Chase tightened his jaw. I went closer.

"Who was he?" I asked gently. The question only made it worse. He looked so sad…

"The vampire's spell… it should have worn off," he whispered. "Why didn't it?"

"It's not your fault," I said, not knowing what else to. "I'm the one who killed that vampire. You defended yourself."

Silence.

"Come on, don't space out on me. Say something…"

"…the waterfall…"

"What?"

He walked away.

"I will go to the waterfall. Wash off this blood. Wait for me if you want to."

I didn't say anything else. It was my turn to be silent.


	35. Arc 2 - Chapter 11

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 11 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

I was a fool.

The binding magic between a vampire and thrall can vary in strength. I did not know this. My only thought had been to protect Dar-Meena from harm. I was reckless in my haste to quell all threats. The vampire read my movements and evaded my first strike. Their eyes can see prey even in the darkest night. I assumed killing the vampire would bring an end to the conflict and possibly save lives. But the thralls…

Their minds were not freed, but instead thrown into madness and confusion. They needed time to allow their bonds to fade away after the vampire's death. It was time I could not give them.

Now Leifnaar was dead. I stood in that retched cave one last time, holding his wedding ring in my hand. The other corpses were left where they fell, while the vampire had dissolved into dust, as vampires do when they die. I put the ring in my pocket. If not for Dar-Meena, I am unsure how well events would have turned out. Her intervention may have saved me. The thought was galling.

There are times when I think that failure is beneath me. As a hatchling my skills and abilities were honed to a razor's edge. I tell myself even in the bleakest of trials, when lives are at stake, that there is nothing I cannot do. It is the mindset that sends a man charging into battle alone against a dragon. But a world without failure is a world without success. Everyone succumbs to the snare of miscalculation.

The difference is, when _I_ succumb to that snare… people die.

I kicked open a sack of grain, holding back a yell of anger. No amount of rage could overcome my regret. I grieved not only Leifnarr but for his family as well. Who was I to think I could reunite them, as though every problem can be solved by a man and his sword?

_Xhuth… What will I say to them? Is there no good I can do? _

The time would come for me to confront Grosta and her son. Dar-Meena was waiting. I suppressed the storm within and trudged on.

Skies were grey outside. _Not much sunlight_, I noted, thinking of the vampire. I took a potion from my belt and drank a portion of it, tasting the bitter essence of mandrake root. Though Argonians are not prone to contracting Sanguinare Vampiris, I refused to gamble. I would monitor my vitals closely over the next three days and continue medicinal therapy. The dreaded vampire's disease is best cured at early onset.

Symptoms of vampirism do not appear until it passes its dormant stage, but by then the effects become permanent, irreversible.

A light spray from the nearby waterfall misted me as I walked down the path. The water had been very cold for bathing, almost painfully so. It helped distract me from my thoughts. I was thankful for that. Dar-Meena was sitting on a rock near a thicket of trees and stood to greet me as I approached.

"Got what you needed?" she asked.

_Yes_, I thought but didn't speak. I simply held out the items I'd gathered for her to see: Leifnaar's ring and a vial of the vampire's remains.

"What's that?"

"This is what was left of the monster," I said.

"_Dust_?"

"All vampires turn to dust when they die, as far as I know."

"Why take it with you?"

"I can use it," I said. "It is a rare alchemical ingredient." Zollassa showed me a potion that is easy to make with vampire dust. All the knowledge I have of alchemy is due to her, though much has been forgotten with age. She taught me that every substance on Nirn possesses some magical essence waiting to be harnessed. I had always enjoyed Zol's fascination with the alchemical world.

I returned the vial to my belt. Dar-Meena stared guardedly at me. _She knows now what I really am._ I could sense her unease.

"You are afraid of me," I said. A statement, not a question.

Dar-Meena folded her arms. "Should I be?" she asked. It was uplifting to hear. In spite of all the horrors she witnessed, she remained undaunted. I did not expect to find in her such level-headedness, let alone the competence to kill a vampire.

_It is rare that one meets a will this strong… _

"It would be better for both of us if you were," I replied coolly.

She did not like that answer. Unfortunately Dar-Meena would get no comfort or consolation from me. The more of a killer I was in her eyes, the more she would detach herself. It needed to be. I could not afford close relationships. One who bares death has no place among the living.

Or so I always told myself. I suppose actions betray true thought.

I decided to travel with Dar-Meena back to Riften. My original plan had been for us to part ways at this point. I would travel north, send a letter to Grosta informing her of her husband's whereabouts, then depart for Solstheim. All this to say I changed my mind. Riften was a passing point on the way to Ivarstead. My answer to the Greaybeards' summons had been delayed long enough.

We hiked for a time without a word between us. I hoped Dar-Meena did not expect me to be as outspoken as before. The mood was bleak. A once vibrant forest now seemed dead, its colors dulled in the cloudy day. The sounds of nature, however, had not changed. Life persists in gloom or sunshine. I listened. Ducks sounded off like horns… leaves rustled as small rodents scurried through them, and… something…

Something was off.

I started hearing strange noises behind us, faint and nearly undetectable. Nonetheless they sounded… out of place. I tuned my ears to them as we walked, waiting to see if they would persist.

_It could be nothing…_

"So… Now that all this is over, what will you do?" Dar-Meena started speaking.

An unhappy grumble escaped me. There were things I wanted to focus on more than idle chatter. I multitasked my hearing as best as I could.

"There are matters elsewhere in Skyrim that I must settle," I said. "I am afraid I have no time for respite. Long travels await me."

"You sure like to keep yourself busy."

"I prefer an active lifestyle, yes." I decided to keep the conversation going for pretenses. "What about you, Dar-Meena? What path have you laid ahead for yourself?"

"Damned if I know. Damned if I care. I'll figure all that out once I'm back in Riften."

"You will resume your life as a thief, I assume."

Dar-Meena became cagey. "I'll do what I want to."

She was never willing to talk about the subject of her thieving, no matter how many times I brought it up. I wondered why. Her attitude suggested she cared little for outside opinions. Why feel any shame of judgment over her life as a criminal? Unless, of course, she _did_ care.

I was not detecting any more unusual sounds.

_Keep talking to her, but stay alert._

"Dar-Meena," I began, looking back at her as I walked, "why _are_ you a thief? What is it that compels you?"

Her expression bore exasperation.

"Really? _Really? _We both brush death with a vampire, say almost nothing to each other, and _this _is what you finally decide you want to talk about?"

"We do not have to, if you would rather–"

"No, you know what? You want to talk about this? _Fine!_" she exclaimed, spreading her arms out in challenge. "Why don't you just say it already? Get it off your conscience! You think I'm despicable because I'm a thief. The shit of Nirn! You think I should just… give it all up and start living a _good_ life, or whatever that even means."

I was surprised by her temper. She continued before I could speak.

"Well guess what? I _like _being a thief. Don't act like you're such a saint! Where do you get off being so self-righteous?"

I turned to her with a look of sympathy. "Dar-Meena, you are not despicable. I see great things in you. I simply cannot understand why you would squander your days living off the misfortune of others."

Dar-Meena hesitated. She seemed conflicted.

"Godsdamned," she grumbled, glaring at me. "I'm the one squandering _my_ life? Like you have room to talk! Let's not forget everything you did back in that cave! I'll bet those weren't the first people you've ever killed. Just what have you been doing with _your _life?"

A fair reply. I was not offended by its sting. I knew I deserved it.

"I have killed many people in my lifetime," I said emotionlessly, "and I may yet kill many more. Think of me what you will. I offer no defense for my actions."

Dar-Meena was stunned. "Then what right do you have to judge me?"

My reply was delayed. The sounds. They returned.

_Stay on top of this. Show no sign of suspicion._

"Judgment is not a question of right, but necessity. I wish to believe there are such things as good and evil," I said. Dar-Meena considered my statement crossly.

"Good and evil, huh? So which are you?" she asked.

I knew well what I was. There is no word for it.

"I was sent down a path in life that I did not choose," I said. "It is a path I am cursed to follow. But you are still young. You can choose to live a better life. You do not realize the true value of such freedom." My eyes were firmly fixed on the path ahead. "I ask not to condemn, but to counsel. Why are you a thief, Dar-Meena?"

Her tail hung limp, a sigh leaving her as she shook her head. I was right about this one. She was not a callous criminal. She cared too much.

"It's what I'm good at," she said. "I can't just give it up..."

I stared down at my footsteps.

"Believe me, I would echo those words," I softly replied. "I wish you weren't a thief, but to leave the life you know behind is no simple matter. How do you let go of something so terrible, yet so warmly familiar that it has become a part of who you are? I myself have yet to find the answer to that question."

There was a moment of understanding between us. Any more words were unnecessary. We both looked at each other, lingering.

To my dismay I realized the error of what I was doing. I wanted to estrange myself from Dar-Meena, to have her see a monster in me. But our conversation was accomplishing the opposite. We were drawing together instead of apart.

I looked out into the forest. My senses came alive. Off in the distance…

_Movement._

It was insignificant at a glance. But that did not stop the pricking beneath my scales, the intuition of a trained stalker.

"Something the matter?" Dar-Meena asked.

_Xhuth, stay focused!_

"Nothing, sorry. I am lost in thought," I said.

Silence ensued as we continued on the path. The time had come to be on guard. I knew exactly what was happening.

We were being followed.

~ooooo~

A trilling sound graced my ears, signaling that the herb was close. I rounded the trunk of a large pine tree and stood before a glade in the forest. At the edge of a small pool of water rested a weed-like plant with three large leaves. It glowed faintly in the dusk of evening, emitting its strange natural shrill. I plucked the herb from the ground and at once the glowing and trilling stopped. The plant fit snugly into my bag. I would have need of it. Soon, I feared.

Dar-Meena stayed behind at our camp site. As I explored the forest I could feel the stares of eyes on my back. This was more than just a scavenging run for sticks and ingredients. It was a test.

I needed to know who they were watching. The two of us? Her? Or me?

In the beginning there was nothing to indicate their presence. It was a demanding exercise of spatial awareness, though one would not know this simply looking at me. As I walked back to camp, ready to give up the ghost, I heard a distant snap of a twig. It was out of sync with the rhythm of the woods around me. A mistake on their part, perhaps? I continued on with an unassuming manner; counter-surveillance demands a feigning of ignorance.

At last I knew the score. They were ignoring Dar-Meena. I was the target.

Whoever these people were – and I assumed more than one – they were not amateurs. The sheer difficulty I had detecting their presence was startling. Assassins? I could not believe any would have found me so quickly. Whoever they were, though, they would regret their choice of mark.

I was dealing with experts in stealth and reconnaissance, but expertize cannot compete with _mastery_. I had been bested at Stonefalls Hollow. I would _not_ be bested here. Not at my own game.

I returned to Dar-Meena, lying back on her pallet. She barely acknowledged my return. I started a small fire and prepared a few morsels to eat.

"How are you doing that?" she asked, now lying on her side to watch the flames.

"Hm? Doing what?" I replied.

"Your fires don't let off any smoke," she said. "What's the secret?"

I regarded the pile of burning sticks. "It is all in how you fuel the flames. Large logs will burn long and release a lot of smoke. Fine if you are in a place of safety, but poor for staying hidden. On the other hand…" I began placing small sticks into the fire one at a time. "…if you keep your fire small and feed it light portions, gradually, it will continue to burn as pure flame."

Having finished using the fire, I spit a mouthful of water over the tinder and extinguished it, scattering its remains across the forest floor with my hand.

"A stealth fire, as they call it. Very practical."

Dar-Meena's brow rose with a nod of her head. She seemed impressed.

We ate little but enough to get by. All the while my conscience grew heavy. I had to make a judgment call. If the people following me meant harm – and I assumed they did – I did not want Dar-Meena caught in the middle. A vampire and thralls were one thing, but a group of trained assassins?

_She must be lost,_ I thought to myself. She was a smart girl. I was confident she could find her own way back to Riften.

"You sure do love to think, don't you?" she said, yawning. The day was late.

I replied silently with a smile. It had only been a few short days, but I found myself rather fond of her company. She was exasperating at times but not unbearably so. It would take much more to ruffle the feathers of someone like me.

"Dar-Meena," I said, "I am grateful for your decision to come with me, despite everything that has happened. I am sorry you had to see the things you did."

She threw me a defiant look to prove her fortitude.

"Whatever," she muttered. "The world's got plenty of horrors in it. You find them sooner or later."

"Indeed. A sad truth," I sighed.

Dar-Meena stretched and rolled onto her back, looking up at the stars. I could barely see her slender figure. Her bright feathers were all that stood out. Black scales and dark clothing appeared to blend with the coming night. I found it striking. There was a glint of moonlight in her eyes.

"Chase, after we get back to Riften… I won't see you again, will I?" she said, sounding already sure of the answer.

_Perhaps if circumstances were different…_

"Probably not," I replied.

She sat up.

"Fine. You're sleeping first, Chase. There's no way I'm letting you go two days without."

My pursuers would make a move if I actually slept. It was a poor time for rest, but any would be better than none. I took her offer and pretended to shut my eyes. A few hours passed uneventfully. _They must want to catch me alone,_ I thought. Strange that they did not do this earlier. What were they waiting for?

Halfway through the night, Dar-Meena took her nap while I stayed awake. I waited until early morning to make sure she was sound asleep. The forest became cold and damp as a thin mist enveloped the trees.

The time had come. Silently I picked up my belongings, feeling a shiver in my tail. I took a blanket from my bag and draped it gently over the girl. She would have more need for it than I. I rested a hand on the pommel of my sword.

_I cannot let go of who I am… but you will, Dar-Meena. I'm sure of it. You have yet to achieve your true greatness. _I glanced back at the sleeping young thief.

_C'ee jaas keerthelh tsuq. Goodbye._

And so I walked off into the haze, disappearing, ready to face my enemies. I believed that this was for the best, that she and I should never meet again.

I believed that she would be safer without me.

I was a fool.


	36. Arc 2 - Chapter 12

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 12 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

War is a beast that thirsts for blood and drinks till it's satisfied. An old soldier who fought in the Great War once told me that.

The scene before us spoke of a great battle. Corpses speckled the grassy field like pox blisters. It was the aftermath of a skirmish, and it was clear which side had won. There were more bodies dressed in Imperial red than Stormcloak blue. Men and women were left to rot in the sun, their valuables pilfered. I'd wager the battle must have ended barely the day before. Scents of death and decay were fresh on the wind.

"How horrible… I never even imagined..."

Falura surveyed the valley of the dead. I rode my horse up beside hers.

"Don't get squeamish now," I said with a smile. "We're in The Pale, bordering Hjaalmarch. The two holds are warring out here. There's plenty more where this came from."

"You make it sound blasé," she replied. "How does this battlefield not move you? You don't see the cruel waste of life?"

"See now, that's the wrong way of looking at it. This isn't cruelty. It's war. The season unending. These men and women are walking in Shor's Hall as we speak. We should be _envying_ them."

Falura shook her head. "I could never envy this."

I shrugged. She wouldn't understand. The elf was set in her elf ways.

Aela, Farkas, and Vilkas lead our trot around the valley. No time to stop and take in the scenery; the dead would have to bury their own. We had a date with a dragon.

"You know, I'm surprised none of you are out fighting in this war," I remarked as we rode on.

"You're not the only one," Aela said. "I worry that a bunch of snowberries are out there earning glory while we stay out of it."

"If there's even glory to be found," Vilkas retorted before glancing back at me. "Kodlak tells us not to worry about it. We follow his lead."

"You don't see a reason to fight?" I asked.

"There are always reasons to fight," he said, "I just wish this war had good ones. Who cares who worships what dead god? Give me something to make me draw my sword!"

I shifted in my saddle. "How about you, Farkas? What's your take on the war?"

He grunted in reply. "Too confusing for me."

Falura rode up on my left. Our horses stepped together at the same pace, trampling the dry grass and dusty ground beneath us. My eyes squinted in the bright sunlight.

"The others have spoken their peace," she said to me with anticipation.

"Ah, my turn is it?" A smug grin rose on my face. "I gave joining the war some thought. I was in Cyrodiil when it started. That was… hmm… Hey, how many months ago was it?"

The others didn't reply. I stopped grinning and licked my dry lips, brushing the whiskers of my moustache.

"Right, well… I thought about joining. Ulfric's cause seemed well intended. My family was no friend of the Empire and neither am I. The Imperials have made us weak with their coddled kings and fat coin purses."

"A nation should have more than might and strength alone," Falura injected.

"We're the fiercest warriors in Tamriel! Strength is our birthright! The land of the Nords should always be strong." I shook my head. "Ah, but spilling the blood of our brothers and sisters? How does that make Skyrim stronger? I just can't see it. That's the only thing holding me back."

"There's an old saying: a house divided cannot stand," Falura said said with a smile. "You would rather see Skyrim united than broken apart."

"Maybe," I muttered, scratching my beard.

"Is that some kind of Dunmer proverb?" Vilkas spoke up. "Your great houses aren't united. They're separated by their philosophies. Am I right?"

"Yes," she replied.

"This is a civil war. A _clash_ of philosophies. Tell me, have your houses ever warred with each other?"

The mage turned to look at the field of bodies, thoughtful. She quickly withdrew her gaze and stared at reign in her hands.

"I suppose not every division can be reconciled," she replied quietly.

"It is what it is," I said to her, thinking of something my uncle once told me. "All we can do is live well and hope that our next of kin will learn from our mistakes."

Falura made a face. "Live well? In Skyrim? Between the war, the hospitable natives, and the dragons…"

I grinned again. "Aw, give it some time! You'll get used to things around here."

~ooooo~

The whole world suddenly spun on its side – the sky, the evening sun, the distant mountains. I fell on my back in the dirt and coughed. Tall grass narrowed my cone of vision. Before I could come to my feet, a greatsword was poised at my throat. I gaped at it angrily. Vilkas stared down at me, gripping the weapon's hilt. The veteran Companion had me at his mercy. He rolled his eyes.

"What was it you said? 'Third time's the charm?' I was hoping you'd be a better training partner than this," he scoffed. The man withdrew his weapon.

"Training!?" I grunted, pushing my limbs to prop up my body. "Augh, this is… _trouncing_, not training! The only thing I'm learning is how to get knocked around! How 'bout you actually teach me something useful?"

"This is exactly how I'm supposed to teach you," Vilkas retorted. "Your job is to observe and gain knowledge with each battle. Outsmart yourself."

I brushed the dust off my arms and legs. "It still too much to ask for some practical advice?"

The man stood with his weapon at rest, tip pressed into the ground, both hands on the pommel. Frogs were croaking noisily in a nearby pond.

"Alright then," he said. "Start by doing something about those two left feet of yours."

I spat a fat glob of saliva on the ground. "I said practical, you prick."

"I mean it. You favor the greatsword? That means your lower body has to compensate for the weight your upper body swings around. Footwork is the key to balance. Your stances start off strong, but they get sloppier the longer you fight. It's embarrassing. I shouldn't be able to knock you over this easily. You need to keep your feet positioned for balance and stability at all times."

The man was smug but I'll be damned if he wasn't bright. Vilkas… a renowned member of the Circle, the Companions' elite, standing alongside the likes of Kodlak Whitemane himself. He looked like he was in his early twenties. That made me his senior by almost a decade. I felt a soreness in my bones.

I felt old.

"Huh… Well there you go," I huffed, bending down on my knees. "Helpful advice. That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Vilkas plucked his sword out of the ground and turned to leave.

"Going somewhere?" I called out.

"Aren't we done?" he replied.

"I got one more left in me."

"You can't be serious."

I raised my weapon to fight. "You talk about learning, right? Then let's learn some more. Come on! I got catching up to do."

Vilkas met my stare. I couldn't match the skill of these youngster Companions, but I still had a fire left in me. On the day I got my first sword, that man would've been soiling his drawers. I wasn't old. I was in my prime. And I had to prove it.

The man shook his head and stepped forward, raising his weapon.

"Last time. Your move," he said.

I smirked. "Middle age before beauty, eh?"

"Are you two quite finished?" Falura suddenly snapped.

We both whipped to our right. The mage stood with her staff held upright and a fist on her hip, her presence lording over us like a mother hen. My arms went limp.

"Is, uh… Is there a problem?" I asked.

"I hired you to help me battle a dragon, not each other," she badgered. "I can't have anyone getting injured before the fight has even begun! Please! Try to contain yourselves until then, would you?"

Annoying? Yes. It was her call to make, though. She was the patron for our trip. Vilkas and I sheathed our swords.

"Apologies," he said.

"Just a bit of freeplay," I grumbled. "No harm, no foul."

Falura walked away with her three-legged walk. Insects started chirping. Vilkas and I exchanged looks.

"Next time," I sneered.

"We'll see," he replied.

Dinner was coming up right quick, our last decent meal before the day of the big hunt. We rejoined at camp a while later and sat down around the fire to eat. All except for Aela. She said she had some business to take care of. Our meal consisted of a thick vegetable stew and baked bread. Falura took the liberty of making it, though I think I could have cooked something more flavorful.

_I'll have to make us a real meal after we've killed that dragon_, I thought.

While I was eating, an annoying trill kept ringing in my ears. It was coming from behind some bushes. I set my bowl down on the ground.

"I'll be right back," I said.

The valley around us was wide and rugged, sloping up to mountains that stood against the faintly starry sky. I followed the sound and discovered a three-leaved plant glowing beside a small basin of water. I yanked it up by its stem. The trilling stopped. Satisfied, I brought it back to the campsite and sat back down on the ground.

"Hate these damn things," I muttered, tossing the plant into the fire.

"Me too," Farkas added. "Thanks for that."

"You didn't have to throw it in the fire," Falura said, resting her bowl on her lap. "That was a Nirnroot. They're actually quite rare."

"Rare as in they're worth something?" I asked concernedly.

"Not really, but I know an alchemist couple back in Morrowind who would balk at the sight of a sample being wasted like that."

I scooped up my bowl, dunking a piece of bread in the stew. "I'm not gonna lose sleep over it."

"You would if you knew what that root could do," Falura said with a challenging smile.

"If I did, then I would. But I don't." I took a noisy slurp of broth. "So I won't."

The mage set her food aside and leaned forward, folding her hands on her lap. "What if I told you the root could protect you from magic? Or make you invisible?"

"That depends," I said. "Is this before or after you've had your skooma trip?"

"I'm being candid. Those are the tertiary and quaternary essences of Nirnroot."

"The what now?"

Falura sat upright. "All alchemical ingredients possess no more than four distinct magical essences. Some scholars believe they're the residual effects of a life form's connection to Aetherius. There's not a single organic material on the face of Nirn that cannot be broken down into an essence."

I raised a hand. "Okay, but how does a _plant_ make you invisible?"

The mage stared into the fire. "I couldn't tell you. It's the same mystery with modern spells. Magicka manifests itself in very specific ways. These manifestations are the baseline for all arcane study, which we categorize into the five schools of magic. "

The mage looked up. Vilkas was staring at Falura warily and Farkas was brooding. I got the feeling those two weren't keen on our patron's lecture. She started twisting a golden sapphire ring on her middle finger. There were strange markings all over it that seemed to shine brighter than the metal. They almost looked like they were glowing, though it could have been the fire's reflection.

Falura gently spoke. "I sense that you care little for this conversation…"

"We don't deal with matters of magic," Vilkas said flatly. There was a much more bitter opinion buried in those words. Falura had strong opinions of her own, though.

"Don't criticize what you don't understand," she cautioned, holding herself back. "Magic is a boon to civilization. It has enriched the lives of many."

"It's also dangerous. That's not hard to understand."

She resumed staring at the fire. "Well, feel free to be content with that. I'll speak no more."

"You know, you're pretty good at explaining things," I inserted cheerfully, stretching my arms with a long drawn out grunt. "I actually followed you for a little bit there."

Falura glanced at me. "Thank you, Reinhardt. I'm glad at least someone appreciates the subject matter."

"Appreciates? Woah there, I wouldn't go that far," I chuckled. "I'm afraid when it comes to magic, I don't have a whit of wit."

Falura contained a small fit of laughter. It had a gentle, almost musical sound.

"A whit of wit," she repeated, grinning thoughtlessly. "I must remember that one."

In the company of those two stick-in-the-mud brothers, Falura saw me as a land sighting at sea. A smile snuck up on my face. I was starting to like that elf. Never had the chance to know any personally; she seemed a nice sort, even if she was a bit motherly.

"Finally decided to join us?" Vilkas said with a grin. I followed his eyes. Aela appeared and sat down with the others. Her auburn hair glowed softly in the firelight. I was once again overcome by the sight of her face. A man can kiss his sensible thoughts goodbye whenever a beautiful woman appears before his eyes.

"Plenty of food left," I offered, trying to seem hospitable. "Of all the nights to go hungry, this isn't one of them."

"Thanks," she said, taking a bowl for herself.

With everyone gathered we went on to discuss more of our plans for dealing with the dragon. Arrows could whittle it down, but we'd need a lot of them to kill it. The Dragonborn had the right idea – cripple the wings and the rest becomes easier. Falura was convinced if we fought in a place with flat open space it would try to land and attack us on the ground. That'd be our cue to do as much damage to the wings as we could. She said she could use fire magic to keep it from feeling too safe in flight. All the while we'd keep our distance from each other and force the dragon to pick a target while the others attacked. It'd be just like Farkas and I fighting the giant.

I was disappointed we had no sure-fire way to hit the dragon hard. Light strikes were the most we'd be able to manage. The other Companions didn't seem too worried, though. They were _very _confident we would win. I had no idea why, but their confidence gave me confidence too.

When the time came for sleep, we put out our fire and went to our cots. Aela, however, pulled me aside.

"Reinhardt," she said. "I need to speak with you in private."

"What's that?" I raised an eyebrow. "A private conversation, eh?"

Her glare was steady. "Just come with me."

I followed Aela to a grove of pine trees near the water basin where Vilkas and I had been fighting. Mudcrabs were asleep in the muck, their shells almost impossible to tell apart from rocks. A cold breeze blew by from the mountains and rustled through the grass. The smell of pine sap mingled with the aftertaste of stew.

"Okay. We're alone," I said as Aela slowed her walk. "So what's going through that mind of yours…?"

"Where did you get that ring?" she turned around and asked.

I froze. "Ring? What ring?"

"Don't be coy. The one on your finger."

I held up my hand and pointed at the silver band with a wolf head on it.

"O-o-oh… _This _ring? Ah, this old thing's a family heirloom," I lied. "My kin's had it for generations. Just a trinket with some personal value."

"Where did your family get it?"

"I, uh, don't know. I never asked."

Aela put her hands on her hip. "You should have. I wondered how a hot head like you could find the Ring of Hircine."

I grimaced. "You… know what it is? Ah, damn…"

"Yes I know what it is," she said, "and I'm guessing so do you."

"More or less."

"Can you use it?"

I wasn't sure what she meant by that, but the way she asked the question seemed very serious. I think she knew something about the ring that I didn't.

"Use it? What are you talking about?" I threw up my arms. "I can't do anything with it! It's cursed!"

"Cursed?"

"See for yourself!" I tried to pull the ring from my finger. "It's stuck! I can't take it off!"

Aela stared at me like she'd just heard a bad joke.

"Ever get your hand stuck in a jar?" she asked embarrassingly. "Perhaps you're confusing curse with stupidity."

"Oh now you're just trying to hurt my feelings," I said, faking pain in my chest. "Come on, what do you take me for?"

"I won't break it to you gently."

"It was bigger when I put it on," I insisted, making gestures for emphasis. "The ring _shrank_. Listen, the last man who wore it was… a werewolf. He's the one who said it was cursed, made his transformations uncontrollable. I swear that's the truth."

Her stare became even sterner. "I haven't seen you transform."

"I'm not a werewolf. The ring doesn't do anything to me, so…"

Aela relaxed. "So that's why he gave it to you. This was someone you knew. Family, right?"

I scratched my beard. "Yeah... My cousin. He's in jail for… murder."

"And you thought putting on the ring was a good idea."

"How was I supposed to know the thing would shrink? Rings don't usually do that."

The woman glanced at the ring, unable to hide her disappointment.

"Whether or not it's cursed, you don't realize how powerful that ring really is," she said. "I hate to see it wasted on a hot head like you."

My eyebrows drew low.

"I don't see you offering to help me get rid of it."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

I blinked.

"Oh. Well why didn't you just say so? You got something in mind?"

Aela walked a few paces, thinking.

"I've never heard of the ring being cursed," she said, "but Hircine is the only one who could curse it. Which means we need to find a way to appease him."

Sinding mentioned something about doing that when he gave me the ring. The mere mention of the idea, though, made me more than a little uncomfortable.

"We're going to appease a Daedra? Apologies for asking, but… _how_?"

Aela leaned to the side. "This isn't something we can deal with right now. It'll have to wait until we're back in Jorrvaskr. We'll look for answers then. Think you can handle wearing that ring for another week?"

I shrugged. "A few minutes ago I assumed I'd be buried with it."

"Good. Don't worry. If the dragon kills you, I'll make sure that ring gets left in the right hands."

"I hope he eats it, then. That oughta give you a fun evening."

The woman laughed a single laugh and turned to leave. _She's one to keep alright_, I thought to myself, admiring her southern regions. There was one thing I wanted to know, though…

"Say," I called out, "what's your interest in all this Hircine business?"

Aela kept walking. "Be patient," she said. "You might find out sooner than you think."

I wandered back to camp, staring up at old Masser sitting high in the sky. Its crescent was barely a sliver but still brighter than any star. My thoughts had returned to Falkreath and Sinding.

And werewolves.

It'd be the first time in days I dreamt about something other than dragons in my sleep.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_Falura's mentioning of the theory behind alchemy ingredient essences was, of course, my doing. At this point I'm coming up with my own internal system behind Nirn's magic, mostly in an attempt to make things seem less video-gamey._


	37. Arc 2 - Chapter 13

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 13 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

He left! He upped and left without saying a word!

_You damned, red scaled son of a bitch! Why'd you bring me out here just to abandon me in the middle of nowhere!?_

I paced around the campsite, growling in frustration. By the time I woke up from my sleep it was early morning and a light misty fog covered the woods. Leaves and grass pedals were wet with dew, soaking my boots. And Chase was nowhere to be found. So much for going back to Riften together.

"Shit… I need to figure out where I am," I muttered.

I pulled out a map, the one Delvin had written directions on. Moisture from the air dampened the parchment in my hands. We passed Shor's Stone some ways back but veered to the west away from the road to Fort Greenwall. Luckily, it looked like the path to Riften was straightforward. If I traveled south I'd hit Lake Honrich and the city would be close by. Though I wasn't about to leave just yet.

Fuming, I looked around. Chase's belongings were gone except for that blanket he left and there wasn't a message or note lying around to tell me anything. Damned if I could figure out where he went. He was the wilderness expert, not me. I couldn't see any footprints or anything. Chase must have covered his tracks, which meant he didn't want me following him.

It seemed like the perfect setup for a trap; ditch the companion and ready an ambush. But I didn't think it _was_ a trap. He passed every opportunity to backstab me before. I almost couldn't believe that he'd go back on his word, after everything he said in Riften, after everything we went through at Stonefalls. I was stupid. I let him get to me...

_It couldn't have all been a ruse, could it? What in Oblivion is going on? _

For all I knew Chase was out gathering food or hunting a bear, but something felt _wrong_. His leaving was too sudden. Something must have happened that forced him to go away. I had to see if there were any clues nearby, so I picked a direction and started walking. It was a very cold morning. The loudest sounds to reach my ears came from the wind, drowning out distant bird calls and hoots of owls.

I hugged my arms around my waist. I hated being alone again. That's got to be the one thing that always sets me on edge. Even bad company is better than none.

Well, maybe not…

"Turn back."

I nearly jumped out of my scales as a voice spoke behind me. I spun around, reaching for my knife, to see there was no one in sight. No sounds of footsteps, no movement in the mist. Nothing. Just trees.

Who else was out in the forest? Hunters? Nomads? I left my blade in its pouch and pulled an arrow from my quiver, coating the arrowhead with paralysis poison. Somebody picked a bad time to agitate me. I ignored the command and kept walking with my eyes wide open, scanning everything and everywhere.

The persistence paid off. The voice spoke again from a different part of the woods.

"You won't find him. Turn back. Last warning."

I heard it better that time. It sounded feminine, a slight purr accenting its vowels. A Khajiit? Her tone sure wasn't friendly. I drew my bow and snapped my poison arrow's tip toward the voice. Still no one in sight. I eased off the drawstring. _Who are you, dammit!? _I nearly spoke out loud but held my tongue, heartbeat rising in tempo. Whoever this was, she knew about Chase. She must have come looking for him.

Maybe that was the reason he left me. He anticipated her coming. Was there some kind of danger? I had half a mind to turn and leave, but…

_I must be getting warm,_ I thought._ He can't be far._

The forest opened up into a rocky slope. I'd gone north toward the mountains overlooking Eastmarch. The tall grass made my ankles itch. Large boulders were scattered everywhere with strange flat patches of rock smoothed over the ground. A flock of cawing birds took to the air. I was getting jumpy. It felt like the land itself wanted me gone.

"So determined!" The voice became unnervingly cheery. "He leaves and you come looking for him. How touching. But you still should have listened to me."

_Warmer..._

I approached a wide boulder with a flat top and flinched at a sudden rustling in the bushes nearby. I raised my bow, putting my back against the cold damp rock, waiting for a chance to take a shot at the first thing that moved. There was a quiet sound of boots walking on stone. A shadow appeared.

It cast over me. I tilted my head to the side and looked up, swearing softly under my breath. A pair of bright feline eyes stared back, mouth twisting into a grin.

"You're in the way," she sneered. "Now you die."

_Cold._

The Khajiit leapt off of the boulder and tackled me to the ground, knocking away my bow. I barely felt the arrow in my hand snap in two. The attacker's knife plunged down at my throat in a blink. I reached out and caught her wrist. The woman laughed sportingly, slowing forcing the steel tip of her weapon lower… and lower…

"This is nothing personal. I would have let you live," she said with a smile. "Now you're just another thrall for our dear Dread Father."

She was too strong for me. The Khajiit had my legs pinned, but not my tail. I used it as an extra set of muscles to boost my leg's strength, pushing it free from under her, enough to bend a ramming knee into her groin. The cat folded over. I pushed the woman away and scampered to my feet, claws raking up the grass. She recovered frighteningly fast. The cat hissed as she lunged, slamming me against another boulder with the force of her full body. Her knife flashed.

I lurched to the side, avoiding a killing blow. Instead the blade buried into my shoulder. My bad one. I couldn't hold back the scream of pain as she pulled her weapon free and grabbed me by the throat.

"That's it... Bring him here," she purred. "We'll see how he reacts when he finds your corpse."

She didn't notice my other arm, clutching the broken tip of my arrow. I swung it at the Khajiit's face. All I could land was a bloody scratch on the fur of her cheek, but that was enough. The woman's eyes grew big and round as the poison did its work. Her body went rigid and she fell to the ground, paralyzed. I loomed over her, holding tight the gash on my shoulder, blood leaking from behind my fingers.

"The only corpse he'll find is yours, you bitch," I snarled.

In the brief letup I could finally take in her appearance. The Khajiit had white fur with braids on her head and wore a black leather suit, skin tight, tailored for noiseless movement. She had a short bow strung over her shoulder with a quiver on her back. Could have easily killed me with that earlier, which meant she'd been toying around. Big mistake. I drew my knife and kneeled down to slit her throat.

Her eyes followed me. She was still conscious. I hesitated.

_Gods, what am I doing?_ I was about to kill a helpless paralytic. Those eyes… I couldn't look away from them. They were huge like marbles. Chase probably would've finished her already. How could he do it? Where could he find the will to end someone's life like this?

There was a twitch in her fingers. The poison was wearing off. I knew she would try to kill me the moment she could move. I growled and raised my blade.

"You brought this on yourself!"

The knife sank into her neck with haste, sending a spray of blood across my chest. I spat and sprang back against a birch tree. The Khajiit made a gurgling sound in her throat as she died slowly. I smelled my clothes and nearly retched. What was left of the cat's life leaked out into the dirt.

As I stared at her bleeding carcass, I couldn't shake a funny feeling.

_I think… I've seen her before…_

In Riften. She was the Khajiit I saw in Rfiten, the morning Chase and I had left. I reeled at the sudden memory. She'd been following us the whole time. I couldn't believe it. I felt like such an idiot.

_That damned Chases-The-Wind! Where is he!?_

In the heat of the moment I wanted someone to blame for everything, so I blamed Chase. I couldn't wait to get my hands on that man and throttle him. _He could have told me we were being followed! He keeps thinking that giving me a lack of information – or warning, or anything! – is somehow supposed to be better for me! Now look what's happened! Gods damn it all!_

I wished that I'd never come to Skyrim. It was one horrible disaster after another. I dug my claws into tree bark, shoulder flaring in pain. The morning mist was making off in the rising sun.

_Oh, when he sees this, he'll… _

A familiar brassy ring shot horror down my spine. It was the sound of magic being cast. I turned to the Khajiit, eyes wide. The body glowed a soft, subtle blue hue. It lifted off the ground as though someone were propping it up by its backbone. I instantly recognized the work of a reanimation spell. Bands of bluish light swirled around the woman's corpse as it stood on its feet, blood still spilling down from the neck. Runic symbols flashed all over the body.

_Did I… no, it can't be…!_

There was a glazed look in the corpse's eyes. Just when I thought I could catch my breath, I was back in the fire. No time to figure out how it happened. The cat brandished its claws and rushed to attack me. There was almost no space between us. I drew my knife in desperation.

Then came a sound like thunder.

"FUS!"

A shout boomed through the air. The Khajiit stumbled, rammed aside by some blast of magical force. Chase appeared from a thick of trees and slammed the butt of his crossbow over the corpse's head, dropping it to the ground. He stomped his boot down on Khajiit's the neck with a roar and pivoted his ankle, breaking her spine with a loud crack.

_'…sever the head to break the link…' _

It was all so fast. I reached out to him.

"Chase, what–?!"

"Stay behind me!" he shouted, pushing me back.

There was a flash of bright light. Chase's ward was up in time to meet a lashing surge of lightning. It cracked and sizzled as it fought against his spell, raining a shower of sparks. Chase dropped his ward and met our attacker, a lone man standing off in the woods, clothed in a black hooded robe with a red cloth masking his face.

"A necromancer," he growled. "I have no patience for this."

He gripped his crossbow, aimed at the dark figure, and pressed the trigger. The robbed assailant stretched out his hand. The steel bolt stopped in mid-air short of his head. A yellow shimmering radiated from his open palm. Telekinesis. The tip of the bolt began to rotate back at us. Chase's snarl faded.

"Xhuth!" he swore, grabbing me by the arm. The bolt sailed back through the air and missed as we jumped behind a boulder. Lighting arced beside us as we pressed our backs to the stone. Chase holstered his crossbow.

"That man is going to pay dearly!" he hissed through clenched teeth, glancing around the boulder. Chase turned to me with a look of controlled rage. "Stay in cover. I'm going after him. Try to fight – try _anything_ – and that mage will strike you down in a heartbeat."

Words wouldn't come to me.

"Do you understand?"

"I…"

"_Do you understand_!?"

Reluctantly, I nodded. Chase turned away to leave, pulling a vial of dark liquid from the set at his waist. I tried to stop him.

"Chase, there has to be a better–"

More lightning struck off the top of the boulder.

"Not now!" he snapped.

I took a step toward him and grabbed his wrist. Pleadingly.

"Don't you dare leave me here…!"

He glared back.

"I will not abandon you," he said. There was a hint of grief in his voice. He pulled away from me, raising the dark vial to his mouth as he rounded the boulder. I gasped as he disappeared out of thin air in a flash of oily colors.

_What the…!?_

Again lightning struck the boulder, sparks landing on my head. I hunkered down and instinctively reached for my bow. When I realized it wasn't there, that I'd left it where the Khajiit had jumped me, it sank in just how helpless I was. The necromancer's destruction spell left seared scars across the ground and on the trunks of trees. I wondered how much the lightning would hurt.

The thought fled from my mind when a ball of fire sailed past my right and exploded on the ground, blowing clumps of dirt up in the air. I fell back as another explosion flared on the left. The heat of the blast warmed my back like a campfire too close.

Stay in cover, he said. But that boulder wasn't going to be cover for much longer. Trees were the closest thing I could run to, so I ran to them. A hissing sound quickly grew loud behind me. I dove into the wet grass. Another fireball flew over and struck a birch tree on its trunk, blasting the wood into splinters. The tree's crown toppled over.

The necromancer appeared behind me. He strode at a brisk pace. Unlike the Khajiit, this man didn't waste time with words. He extended an arm toward me, lightning dancing around his fingers.

Just as he opened his palm, he hesitated and tried to turn around. The cloth hood he wore started tearing. I saw a flash of color.

A steel sword blinked into existence halfway through the necromancer's neck and severed his head from his shoulders. The robed figure stood headless for a fraction of a second. Chase snarled down at the body as it fell, wiping the flat of his blade on his arm.

I released the breath I'd held captive. The feeling of pain in my shoulder came back worse than ever. Chase ran to me and knelt down.

"Are you hurt?" he asked before shaking his head. "Nevermind, I can see that you are… Hold on."

He helped me to my feet and guided me away from the scene of the battle. Scattered flames were burning out. The forest was too damp to catch fire. As we walked a puff of smoke entered my lungs.

"Couldn't have cut it any closer back there…?" I coughed.

"I had it under control," he spoke flatly.

I didn't want to sound ungrateful, but I had no energy left to keep talking. We stopped at a large pine tree. I rested against its trunk in the shade, sitting uncomfortably on a bed of dead needles while Chase began to work his healing magic on my shoulder. The pain was replaced by a soothing warmth. Even better the second time…

"Try moving it," he said as he finished.

I moved my shoulder. The wound from the Khajiit's knife was completely gone, though my bloodstained sleeve had a good sized hole in it.

"It's better," I replied. Chase sighed, stood up and walked out from under the tree. He wasn't tense. I took that as a sign the danger was gone. I followed him, a thousand questions on my mind.

"Chase… who were those people?" I asked anxiously.

"Assassins," he said. His tone almost sounded sinister.

"I could see that much…"

"They came here to kill me."

I cocked my head to the side, eyes narrowed.

"This was all an attempt at your life?"

He looked out at the destruction in the forest and gave a snort of disdain.

"Attempt? Don't even use the word. This was a joke," he jeered. "I never believed the rumors of the Dark Brotherhood's fall from grace, but to see it with my own eyes..."

His words sent a shiver down my tail. "Those two were… Dark Brotherhood?"

"One should recognize an enemy that has been fought before."

"Gods…"

Those assassins didn't seem like a joke to _me._ If Chase could survive the Dark Brotherhood, that said more about his strength than even the killings at Stonefalls. He turned back to me. I hoped to see a calming and concerned look in his eyes. Instead he frowned harshly.

"How did you manage to follow my trail?" he said, withholding his anger.

"I didn't… I… I had no idea where you went!" My frustration from before was slowly coming back. "You left me without saying a word!"

"I had to!" he exclaimed. "I knew those two were following us. I meant to confront them alone_, _to keep you safe!"

"You could have at least said something!"

"And _you_ know nothing of the game assassins play."

"Chase, how am I supposed to trust that–"

"_Trust_!?" He was appalled. "Have I once hinted betrayal? Tell me! What reason have I given you to doubt my intentions!?"

I wanted to counter him but his accusation had bite. It was enough to make me hesitate, so he pressed his attack.

"Have you forgotten that you nearly got yourself killed coming after me? And the necromancer! I could have fought him handily by myself! That Khajitt would have made no difference! Instead, I had to fight him _and_ protect _you!_ Do you have any idea how much more that put us both at risk!?"

His forcefulness was more than I imagined, even from him.

"But…"

"I left you because I didn't want you to die!" Chase yelled. "You were _in the way_!"

He said it differently than the Khajiit, but that didn't make it hurt any less. Chase saved the hardest blow for last. I'd have almost backed down if it weren't for the fact that he dragged me into all this in the first place...

"Excuse me for caring," I muttered, averting my eyes to the ground.

Chase relaxed. His anger was spent.

"Your care is misplaced," he said. "I am not one you should be caring for."

"Why not?"

"Because I am a dead man walking! This was not the first time assassins have come for me, and it will not be the last."

Hearing that made me remember something. The Khajiit.

"But you knew they were following us all this time," I said, "ever since we left Riften…"

Chase became attentive. "Riften? Dar-Meena, what are you talking about?"

"The Khajiit… She was in Riften on the day we left. I saw her talking to a courier. I thought you knew."

"What!? You're certain!?"

I frowned. "Yes I'm certain. Don't give me that."

Chase was stunned. I figured he must have already known about the assassin being in Riften, but I guess I figured too much. His tail swayed back and forth as he churned thoughts through his mind.

"That can't be… It's too soon…!" he spoke quietly to himself.

I stepped closer. "What do you mean? What's going on?"

"Dar-Meena, I don't know how, but this is worse than I could have feared," he said distressfully. "You need to leave at once."

Now _I _was stunned.

"Why? Just wait a minute, I'm not–"

"The longer you stay with me the more likely you'll become a target. Return to Riften and forget everything we've done together! Speak to no one!"

"Chase, you're making me nervous..."

"As I mean to!" He buried his forehead in the palm of his hand, cursing silently to himself. "This was a mistake… One long string of mistakes… I'm sorry! I never should have brought you with me."

That pissed me off like nothing else. His sense of foreboding didn't help. I folded my arms and glowered at him. He saw that I wasn't leaving.

"This not a suggestion!" Chase implored. "Go back to Riften!"

"No," I said.

"…What did you say?"

"And you call _me_ hard of hearing." I pointed a claw at him. "I'm not going anywhere until you give me some answers!"

"No… No, you mustn't do this…" Chase's voice became angry again. "Dar-Meena, this is life or death!"

"Then why won't you tell me anything, if it's so damn important?"

"I have told you all that I can! You don't–"

"Enough of your bullshit! I said I want answers! Just what kind of 'wanderer' knows how to fight like you do? Or gets hunted by the Dark Drotherhood? And then there's that… that thing you did back there! The shout! What was that? Chase, who are you!? _What_ are you!?"

Chase seemed to hold his breath. He started scowling at me. In threat. The man gently drew his sword, metal scraping against the steel rim of his sheath.

"You are crossing one boundary too far," he growled, closing the space between us. "I have permitted your attitude until now. This I will not tolerate."

I held in a gasp, staring down the edge of his blade leveled at my head. Like Riften all over again, something in that man snapped. Everything about him screamed_ malice_.

"I have killed men for asking questions such as yours. If I cannot trust your actions, I will not trust your silence," he spoke slowly with quiet wrath. "Don't make me do this. Leave. Now."

I was on thin ice. My next words needed to be perfect.

_This is it, Dar… You're about to find out who he _really_ is…_

Chase twisted the grip on his sword. "I won't ask you again–"

"Oh, put that piece of crap away!" I barked. He startled and stared at me like a ghost, wide-eyed. "What are you going to do, kill me too!? Go ahead, then! Do it if that's what you really want!"

"You're a fool," Chase said softly, his tone darkening. "You don't understand the storm you're throwing yourself into. I will not allow this!"

"Then quit gawking and kill me already, because I'm not going anywhere!" I took a step towards the tip of his sword. He stepped back, thunderstruck. "What's the matter? I won't stop you! I couldn't stop you if I tried!"

The man's ferocity was gone. With heartless effort he tapered his glare one last time.

"Don't test me…"

I grabbed the end of his blade and lowered it, taking a stride up to him. He didn't resist. Our snouts were an inch apart.

"I'll do a lot more than that before we're done here," I hissed.

His glare dissolved. Here was a man who relied on the controlling power of fear. It must have been unthinkable to him, getting talked down like this. Gritting his teeth, he snarled like a cornered beast and sheathed his sword. Then Chase did the only thing he could do: he stormed away, muttering to himself.

"Kaah! You disagreeable, c'e nekhtul…!"

A triumphant grin rose on my face. I'd called his bluff. I knew Chase wouldn't kill me. For all his threatening and harsh words, that's not who he was. I'd been trying to figure him out, to find an angle that I could use to get under his skin.

At last I found it. That angle was _me_.

"And where are you off to all of a sudden? More nature walking? Looking for another tree to climb?" I teased him as I followed close behind.

"Waxuuthi, caoc'! Suur gahlaaj golt-suu il!"

"It's not an insult if I can't understand what you're saying."

"This is completely ridiculous! Dar-Meena, you're a fool!"

"Wow, nobody's ever called me _that_ before. You're so original."

"Why aren't you taking this seriously!?"

"Why aren't you not taking this seriously?"

"I… You…!"

"Has anyone ever told you you're _too_ serious?"

"Unbelievable!"

If it makes our squabble seem even more bizarre, don't forget to picture us both adrenaline fatigued and covered in blood.

Chase was completely unnerved. This pleased me. I chuckled to myself, proud of what I'd managed to accomplish. Such a deadly man disarmed by a snarky thief and her passive aggression. He had to give up eventually as long as I kept on him. I'd get the answers I wanted.

"What's the matter with you, Chase? You were always so calm before. What's changed?"

"The only thing that _needs_ to change is your stubbornness. It's going to get you killed."

"Hasn't killed me yet. I think I'll take my chances."

The terrifying experience of being hunted by Dark Brotherhood assassins seemed like the last thing on my mind. I was having a little too much fun distracting myself. We edged along a steep upward hill of rocks, the crest of a mountain. Chase stopped, glanced at the slope, and started climbing his way up to the top. The sky above was clear and yellowish-blue.

"Scouting ahead again?" I asked, hands on my hip.

He withheld a reply except for his scowl, which he freely showed me.

"Okay, so you're not. Then… is this your dumb way of trying to lose me?"

"If it works, I will not complain," he grumbled.

"Wait, that's what this is? Oh wow…!" I couldn't keep a smile off my face. "I was pulling your leg! Gods! You mean you're_ actually _doing this to get away from me? That's so lame!"

"Perhaps. But I am still a faster climber."

I perked up. "Yeah? We'll see about that."

The rocks were rough and easy to grip. Even then, though, Chase did turn out to be a lot faster. Was there anything this guy wasn't good at? He reached the top of the rocks before I could make it half-way up. I blame the fatigue. If I hadn't had a brush with death mere minutes ago we would've had a closer race.

"This is stupid, you know," I huffed. "Why are you so bent on not telling me anything? Haven't I earned an explanation by now?"

I stopped climbing, catching a glimpse of Chase's expression. His eyes stared down at something below on the other side of the crags. There was a look on his face that I never thought I'd see.

Fear.

"Chase, what is it…?"

He shouted back at me.

"_RUN!_"

A dragon with deep orange scales shot up into the air from the behind the rocks. I raised my arm up to block the powerful blast of wind that followed, rushing down the slope of the hill and into the trees beyond. As the dragon banked through the sky, I caught a glimpse of Chase before he lost his footing in the sudden gust…

…and fell over the edge of the cliff.


	38. Arc 2 - Chapter 14

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 14 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Sundas, 5th of Hearthfire 4E 201_

It was snowing on the day of our battle. The clouds overhead were filled with holes like torn upholstery, through which the sun pierced rays of light. Rock spires and jagged terrain encompassed us as we trod along a path that climbed Mount Anthor. We were on the dragon's scent, figuratively speaking. Aela found a trail of bodies that lead us to an alcove in the mountain's northern side. As we approached a natural overhang of icy stone, she crouched down beside the bones of a large tusked creature.

"Mammoth skull," she said, inspecting the remains. "Large bite marks behind the eyes. Dragon must have killed it. Who knows how long it's been dead…"

"Aye. It must have had its fill. The bones are picked clean," Reinhardt remarked.

"Local wildlife could have eaten the carcass," I added. "It's still unclear if dragons require nourishment."

Aela rose and peered up the path. "I see more ruins ahead. Let's check it out."

We walked ahead under the overpass, glassy icicles hanging above our heads. I looked back across the snowy landscape disappearing out of view behind us. The Shrine of Azura stood in the distance, facing away to the east. Were I still a young and naïve Dunmer, I would have prayed for our safekeeping. I am not the praying sort anymore.

The ruins Aela saw were a collection of stone arches that had crumbled away, looking more akin to columns or spires surrounded by rubble. Beneath the snow our boots felt man-made steps. They lead toward a T-fork in the path where the arches once encircled its intersection. Bluffs nearby stretched out toward a white valley below. There were three bodies lying in the snow clothed in black robes, crimson blood staining the ground.

"Look here," Vilkas said, peering at an old stone alter near the bodies. There were alchemical instruments and human bones lying on it. "More necromancy. This mountain is tied to dark rituals."

"Perhaps it has been of late," I replied, coming closer to the bodies. "These mages look like the ones we saw earlier."

"Nevermind the mages," Reinhardt whispered, nudging me. "Take a look at _this_…"

He motioned toward a large flight of stairs. They climbed up to a tall curved wall in the face of the mountain. Considering the layout of the ruins, that wall must have once been its object of interest, a monument of some sort. It was huddled against the rocks of the mount and concealed from wind and weather. Swirled carvings were engraved in its stone. A flat sculpture of a dragon's head appeared to be the crowning piece, above a smoothed surface covered in etched markings.

"Fascinating… Would you look at that," I marveled, walking to the base of the steps. I stared up at the wall. "What do you suppose it could it be?"

"You're asking the wrong man," Reinhardt replied.

We scaled the stairway together, buffeted by snowy winds. The others remained behind to look around. I nearly slipped on a patch of ice as we reached the top. Upon closer examination the etched markings on the wall seemed to have order and sequence. They looked as though a clawed creature had scrapped them into the rock. As for what_ kind _creature, I had my suspicions.

"This some kind of message? Don't look any writing I've ever seen," Reinhardt said, leaning against the wall with his arm.

"This is certainly written language," I replied. "If only we could decipher it…"

I heard footsteps crunching in the snow. Aela had climbed up to reach us.

"This is it. I think we've found where the dragon roosts. The signs are all over," she said. "There are more human remains buried in the snow. Some look ancient."

"This does seem like a prime location, doesn't it?" I said. "These ruins must possess some historic connection to the dragons. Merethic era, perhaps."

"But we don't know what the connection is," she replied.

"Old legends say dragons were hoarders of treasure," Reinhardt shrugged. "Think the dragon's protecting these ruins?"

"Protecting…?" I echoed. The thought had its merits. "Yes… that may be. The Imperials were attacked in a valley downwind of this mountain." Maybe the mages of the college were right after all. Maybe the Imperials had wandered too close to a place the dragon didn't want them.

"Feh. Some treasure, then," Reinhardt huffed, kicking a stone down the steps. "Bunch of rocks and snow."

"These 'bunch of rocks' could save our hides," Aela said, scanning the area. "Lots of cover here, room to maneuver…"

I raised a hand in objection. "We agreed to stage the fight on open ground. This terrain is too treacherous. The dragon has to be able to land."

"It can. There's plenty of space." She pointed up to the jagged mountain peaks high above us. "Those markings on the edges of the rocks – they're claw marks. The dragon uses this mountain to perch. It doesn't matter where it lands, as long as it stays in one place."

I considered her assessment and shifted my staff to my opposite hand, warming the other in the folds of my clothing. Gloves never seem to keep in enough heat when you need them to.

"I see what you mean. I only hope these ruins have no surprises in store for us," I said.

"They wouldn't be surprises if we knew about them," Reinhardt quipped.

"We're too exposed up here," Aela pointed out, changing the subject. "Let's lay low and wait to see if the dragon shows up."

The very moment Aela finished speaking, we heard a roar echo through the air. It sounded very far away.

"I don't think we'll be waiting long!" Reinhardt growled, muscles tense.

"Then it's time… The reason we came here," I whispered.

"Keep the rocks between you and the dragon. Whatever happens, don't let it catch you in the open," Aela said, a smirk rising on her face. "We'll have quite a tale to tell when this is over."

The two Nords drew their bows as we hurried back down the steps to take cover. Vilkas and Farkas were setting up near the crags, calling out to us, directing our attention to the sky. The outline of a large winged creature emerged from the clouds.

"I hope you know how to use that," Aela remarked, nodding at Reinhardt's bow.

"Relax. I got back into practice," Reinhardt replied.

"Just remember to–"

"What, trail my shots? Correct for the wind? Keep my composure?" I could hear his smile in the words he spoke.

"How about 'stay alive?'"

"Oh, is that all? Sure. No pressure there."

Hearing their banter raised my morale. We had all come to this fight prepared. I had my instruments – fire staff, enchanted ring, and the summoning scroll still in my bag from the first dragon encounter. The storm atronach would be a final resort.

At last we could see it. The silvery white dragon flew high above the mountains, roaring at us fearsomely. It glided through the sky, spine oscillating with every pitch and yaw. The visage of its spike bristled back and barbed tail lent the creature a threatening presence. I was left with a familiar mixture of dread and admiration. The dragon unleashed a breath of frost in the air as a show of force and bellowed at us in its mysterious tongue.

"Zu'u mindok hin sahlon, mungrohiik! Dir fah hin Drogsenir!"

I took shelter behind a crumbled column of rock. The Companions began their attack, arrows arcing through the air. Yet the dragon was agile. It could adjust the roll of its body to dodge missiles in flight. Fireballs from my staff would be even slower than arrows. I couldn't contribute to the battle as I had hoped.

_Be patient. This is what we planned for,_ I thought, squinting against flurrying winds._ You will attack when the dragon lands. Withhold nothing when it does._

The dragon flew toward Vilkas and ushered another thunderous Shout, this time to kill.

"FO… KRAH DIIN!"

I remembered well those harrowing words, the same ones that had harkened a slaughter of soldiers. More frost breath streamed from the creature's maw. Vilkas evaded and followed up with an arrow to the dragon's thigh. Farkas aimed for the same mark but missed. Reinhardt ran between a set of boulders to gain better position. The Companions coordinated their movements admirably.

Nonetheless, I could see the dragon was studying our tactics. It flew out of reach around the mountain, carefully considering which threat to focus on first. With a swift beat of its wings, the dragon swerved low to the ground and glided toward Farkas. The man timed a release of his bowstring, struck the dragon, and returned to cover before it could Shout at him.

But the dragon didn't Shout. Instead it passed over and pulled up high into the sky, commencing an aerial loop. Suddenly the winged beast ceased its loop on a nose dive, plunging toward Farkas with nothing overhead to protect him.

"IIZ… SLEN NUS!"

Different. Its Shout sounded different. I felt a shuddering fear of the unknown.

Farkas jumped away but couldn't fully dodge the dragon's breath. It collided with the ground, leaving an icy crater behind like a frozen splash of water. The dragon swooped away. Farkas fell in the snow and struggled to stand back up. I couldn't see what afflicted him. But as he repeatedly failed to rise on his feet, I looked closer and drew in a sharp breath.

The man's legs were encased in solid ice. He couldn't move them.

_Oh no…_

Vilkas shouted his brother's name and ran to him. Reinhardt did the same. Aela came out of cover to strike the dragon, only for it to perch upon the rocks above her. She narrowly escaped the beast's breath and thrashing tail. Snow scattered into the air and clouded my view of the scene. I lost sight of her. The others, meanwhile, were dragging Farkas to safety. I was overtaken by how easily the dragon could disrupt our efforts.

_Just like the Imperial soldiers…_

Fear immobilized me. I even contemplated thoughts of retreat. But as I watched the Nords and their struggle to save Farkas, I knew I couldn't afford a reluctance to act. We came to hunt the dragon _together_. If one died the rest might follow. Swallowing my dismay, I rushed out into the snow.

Reinhardt stayed behind to cover the withdrawal of the two brothers. I came beside him, feet cold and numb, panting in the chill air.

"I'll keep this bastard busy," he said, shooing me away. "Stick with the others!"

"You'll do nothing of the sort," I exclaimed, stepping past him. "See to your friend. I will fend the dragon off."

The Nord's face knotted into a frown. "Don't talk crazy! I'm not gonna be the one who gets lynched for letting you die!"

"Go, Reinhardt! I cannot stop my magic from harming you if you keep this close!"

"What…?"

There was a loud thud that shook the ground. The dragon's plodding steps followed. It was approaching quickly. Reinhardt had not left my side.

"Get back, you n'wah!" I cried.

The man grudgingly obeyed and retreated to the ruins. I was left standing in the cold with only the dragon for company. How small and breakable I seemed before that wyrm, staring into blue lizard eyes that promised a painful death. It came nearer. With its size it could devour me whole. The dragon breathed in and commenced another incantation.

"FO…"

I raised my hand out toward the beast, flicking my thumb across the band of my enchanted ring. Its runes lit aglow.

"…KRAH DIIN!"

The ring's spell activated. A ward flashed before me and blocked the dragon's icy breath. Sharp cold winds blew against my cheeks. I remained standing as the Shout subsided.

"Fax mindol," the dragon bellowed. "Dir nizah lahzey!"

"You will bring no harm upon these men," I declared, masking my terror with an air of command. My fate from this moment onward hinged on skill and skill alone. I held up my staff in an outstretched arm.

There is an unspoken belief among spellcasters. Though enchantments are powerful tools that manipulate the forces of magic, they can never compare to the raw control achieved by a mage's own body. Someone who can cast with a staff but not their hands is no mage. She is a sham. An imitation of true talent.

For decades I have rejected this.

The crystal crowing my staff began to glow as I channeled its charge. Closer the dragon thumped, consuming my vision, until I could almost feel the moist warmth of its breath.

_There is only one thing that should define a caster of magic… _

I struck my staff upon the ground.

_…and that is her mastery of the medium she employs. _

Like a spark igniting a pool of oil, the ground burst into flame. An eruption of fire blew out across the frozen floor. The dragon flinched back, seared by the blast. I stood protected in a swirling fire storm the likes of which no creature would dare approach. The air around me quivered in the heat of its blaze. Snowfall evaporated. I pulled back my staff and readied another spell. Flames drew toward the tip of my staff until all the fire surrounding me amassed into its crystal, glowing blindingly hot.

Then, as the staff reached its peak of welling, I thrust it toward the dragon and unleashed the magic within.

A gout of fire twice the size of the dragon's breath cascaded from my staff and swallowed the beast. It let out a roar of pain. Frantically the dragon beat its wings and rose up into the air out of my magic's reach, bellowing as it soared away. I lowered my staff and leaned on it, reeling from the strain of mental exertion, coming on like a hot flash. The feeling departed quickly. Physical exhaustion is no worry for one who wields a staff, for _it_ carries the burden of casting instead of the body.

I tried to focus the staff's energy again. There was none left. I felt a shock of awe.

_I depleted the entire charge… and it's still flying…! _

Nothing should have survived a spell like that. The dragon was resilient beyond my wildest imagination. It looked badly wounded from the fire, a slight teeter in its flight, but still very alive. I pulled a bright crystal from the satchel at my side. A soul gem. I raised the gem to my staff, which began absorbing the soul within, recharging its enchantments. Within seconds the transfer was complete. The soul gem lost its luster and crumbled into fragments, falling onto the warm dirt at my feet.

I hadn't expected to spend so much energy all in one instant. The gem I used to recharge the staff was of the second highest tier, 'greater.' The only other soul gems in my possession were of the lowest tier, 'petty.' I did not possess enough collective soul energy to recharge the staff back to full.

But what I had was enough for the purposes I required. I was ready to face the dragon again. If I could burn it with another spell, even less powerful than the first one, surely the beast would have no strength left to fly. The Companions then could kill it. I watched the dragon swerve about, looking for an angle from which to strike.

_It knows the threat I pose. It will not attack recklessly. _

I was proven otherwise. The dragon flew low to the ground straight toward me on a collision course.

"Look out!" Reinhardt cried. He sounded nearby. The dragon uttered a Shout.

"WULD… NAH KEST!"

I felt something heavy knock me to the ground as the dragon flew its body into a spiral, wings folded at its side. With the power of its Shout it shot through the air over my head like the crack of a whip, trailing a tunnel of snow. Everything spun. The force of the wind it made blew the heavy weight off my back and rolled me onto my side.

That 'weight' of course had been Reinhardt. If he hadn't shoved me into the dirt, the dragon would have killed me by sheer force of impact. What a gruesome way to die… Imagine if such an attack were unleashed against an army. More snow settled over us as we slowly came to our feet.

"How… How did you know it would do that?" I asked, breathlessly.

"I didn't," Reinhardt groaned seemingly in pain.

I watched the dragon as is soared away. This latest Shout destroyed any hope I had of finding a pattern in its abilities. Were there no depths to the creature's vocal magic? What more forms could it manifest? Reinhardt heaved me up and brushed some of the snow off my clothes.

"Pull it together," he said. "You alright?"

"I underestimated it," I whispered. "A being so formidable… We should have come more prepared…"

"Hey, don't get soft now!" Reinhardt rebuked, giving me a firm shake. "There's no backing down. You hear me? We're in it! Either the dragon dies, or we do!"

I hadn't a mind for battle like these Companions. But he was right. Our fight was far from over. This struggle needed to be worth something in the end. Together we rushed to the two Nord brothers taking shelter in a crook of mountain rock. They were off on the other side of the ruins. Vilkas looked up and saw our approach, along with the dragon on course to catch us.

"Behind you!" he shouted.

Reinhardt turned around and cursed. "Do something! He's on us!"

I brought up my ward to block the dragon's frost breath. The flare of icy wind was blinding. Reinhardt ducked behind my cover and laughed as the beast flew off.

"Haha! You're a godsend, woman!" he whooped.

"My ring has a very limited charge," I snapped. "I cannot repel this dragon forever!"

The man's excitement abandoned him. We wasted no more time reaching Vilkas and his brother. I could hear their bickering from a ways away.

"Rein it in, Farkas! We don't need the blood," Vilkas barked. "We can win this as men!"

Coming to a halt, I bent down over Farkas and stared at his ice-encased legs. They needed to be thawed quickly to stop the cold from freezing them on the inside.

"Stand back. I will try to melt away the ice," I said, holding my staff over the man's legs. The crystal radiated a glow of warmth. It would take some minutes for me to thaw through the ice completely.

Farkas glared at his brother. "You're gonna pay for this later," he said.

Vilkas ignored him. "Where's Aela?" he asked. I shook my head, having not seen her for some time. Judging from Farkas' anxious glare and the troubled look on Reinhardt's face, it seemed no one knew where she was.

"I saw her earlier… I know I did!" Reinhardt said, eyes darting about the landscape.

"Aela wouldn't run," Farkas grunted. "She's here somewhere."

"_Alive._ She's alive somewhere," Vilkas retorted. Though his voice sounded sure, his expression spoke otherwise. Another booming thud announced the dragon's landing. It was a mistake for us to gather together in a tight group. The beast marched toward us on its folded forelimbs. Reinhardt and Vilkas drew their swords and stepped out into the open.

Fools. They had no protection from the dragon's breath. They needed me with them.

_This ice is too thick! I can't stay here any longer!_

Farkas' legs were thawed out at the top but not enough to remove all the ice. It would have to do for the time being. I gave the helpless man my sincerest apologies and left him where he laid.

"This is it," Vilkas growled. The dragon walked closer.

"You mean the part where we win?" Reinhardt chuckled nervously. "It'd better be."

"It has to be," I said, stepping up behind them. They did not reject my presence. All hands were needed for this fight.

_Either the dragon dies… or we do…_

A howl rang out from the mountain tops. Everyone, even the dragon, threw their eyes at the sound. Upon the rocks high above stood a creature with thick dark fur, digitigrades dug in the snow, teeth and claws bared.

It was a human with the guise of a wolf – a lycanthropic.

"What!? A _werewolf_ too!?" Reinhardt cried, raking a hand through his hair. "Ohhh, by Ysmir, this is some kinda nightmare!"

"Wait, look!" I exclaimed.

The dragon snarled at the werewolf as it leapt from the mountains and grappled onto its scaly back. It thrashed about and knocked the werewolf away. In an instant it sprang back on its legs and lunged at the dragon, drawing blood. The wyrm flinched away its forelimb and snapped back with its teeth. I watched the fight with bated breath.

_Why isn't it flying away? Unless…_

"Its wing is torn," I whispered, voice rising. "The dragon can't fly! This is our chance!"

There was sound like tearing flesh behind us. We turned back, seeing a hand with long claws clasping a boulder, the one Farkas had been lying near. His figure emerged, fur breaking out across his body, distorted in the process of transformation. Snout, forelimbs, and thick coat were all accounted for. The ice that had encased his legs broke away with a bulging of muscle mass.

I hadn't seen a transition to lycanthropic form before. The sight was… unsettling.

"There he goes," Vilkas sighed.

"By the gods…!" Reinhardt staggered back.

Change complete. Farkas let out a roar and charged toward the dragon on all four limbs. The winged beast snarled in surprise as it fought to repel the advance of two werewolves. They moved so quickly I could no longer tell which one was Farkas. Reinhardt was silent and dumbstruck. Vilkas gave him a shove and stared him in the eye.

"You going to stand there while our shield siblings fight this battle for us?" he chided. The man rushed to join the fray.

Reinhardt stood still. "Did he just say…?"

"Go!" I barked. "Don't question our fortune! We must win!"

"Er… R- Right…!" He regained his composure and gripped the hilt of his sword with an angry scowl. "Argh, to Oblivion with this!"

Reinhardt led the way as we hurried to the action. The winged beast was in dire straits. It fought madly to keep its attackers at bay. Frost breath had little effect against the two werewolves, though they weren't impervious to its sting. Their advantage was their speed – larger than humans but still smaller than the dragon, they could run circles around it with nimble athletics and strike with tremendous power. Reinhardt and Vilkas were dreadfully slow by comparison, but their swords were much sharper than claws. They skirted around the fight to find an opening for attack.

What a tip of the scales! Still wounded from my magic, the dragon couldn't fight at full strength. The only thing left was to deal a decisive blow.

I tried to come closer. The wyrm volleyed a dense burst of its frost breath at me. My ward held against it, but the glow of the ring's runes was fading. It was nearly out of charge. That winged beast was going to do anything and everything to keep me from coming near. I retreated behind a pillar of rock, infuriated at this setback. My fireballs had too great a risk of injuring allies amidst the scuttle. It was either up close or not at all.

"IIZ… SLEN NUS!" The dragon shouted. One of the werewolves caught the brunt of the spell, the left half of its upper body frozen in ice. Yet just as the dragon seemed to gain an upper hand, the man beast roared and smashed its arm against a nearby rock column, shattering the ice away. It shook itself like a dog out of rain and resumed its attack with vigor.

Reinhardt was able to come within striking range and swung at the dragon, grazing the joint where its wing met its torso. The dragon's tail came spinning around. It slammed into Reinhardt's chest and whisked him off of his feet, throwing the man hard against the mountain.

I called out to him. He rolled over, visibly in pain. The steel plates on his armor must have saved his life. I was relieved but shocked he could still move. He retrieved his sword and used it to prop himself up on the rocks.

At that moment I noticed the dragon being pushed back against the mountain by the relentless werewolves. Reinhardt saw this as well. With arduous effort he began to climb up the mountain's side to reach a higher platform. Were the dragon not distracted, it could have easily shouted Reinhardt down. He was determined. He had a plan and I sensed what it was.

I channeled one last spell and aimed my staff at Reinhardt.

_Let me be fast enough…!_

The dragon was shoved against the rocks by a combined tackle from the werewolves. Cornered and running out of room to fight back, it readied a Shout; a final effort to weasel its way out.

"FUS… RO DAH!"

A clap like thunder burst from the beast's mouth and blew its attackers off their feet. The werewolves tumbled backwards into the snow and dirt. Vilkas seized the moment and thrust his sword through the dragon's neck. It hollered out and knocked the Nord aside with a desperate beat of its wing. The sword remained lodged in the dragon, blood leaking from the puncture.

With the scene unfolding below him, Reinhardt hoisted his weapon. My magic was ready. As the Nord made a running start I focused my staff and threw a spell. A band of red-orange light sailed through the air and met Reinhardt's sword as he jumped.

"Heads up!" he hollered. The dragon lurched.

At the peak of his two-handed swing, the blade of his weapon caught fire and came crashing down upon the dragon's neck. The combination of heat and sharp edge cut clean through its scales, burying deep enough to sever its spinal cord. The great white dragon buckled its legs and slumped forward on its chest, wings folded halfway.

Reinhardt fell back on his rump in surprise when he saw his sword inexplicably covered in flames. Then he burst out laughing – a loud, hardy, victorious laugh.

Our battle was over.

Vilkas emerged from behind the dragon and the two werewolves went to him. As I walked over to the man who dealt the final blow, he hoisted himself atop its head and turned to me with a smile big enough to see from yards away.

"Did you _see that_!?" Reinhardt exclaimed.


	39. Arc 2 - Chapter 15

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 15 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

_Break the fall._

I tumbled down the cliff face, flailing to grab any handhold I could find. My claws dug into a gap but slipped away with the speed of my descent. Sharp rocks grated against me. I hit a protrusion in the wall and felt a crack in my chest before plummeting through the air and hitting the ground.

I tried to push myself up on my hands and knees. A sudden surge of pain forced my arms to give out, collapsing me on my side in the dry and stony dirt. A hiss escaped my lungs. I was oblivious to my surroundings, head spinning, feeling only the numb of my injuries. A burning sensation prompted me to touch my leg. It felt wet with blood.

The healer's training in me took over and commenced a self-diagnosis.

_Severe chest ache, difficulty breathing… multiple rib fractures… Right arm, minor laceration… Left thigh… major laceration… Right thumb and index finger… dislocated…_

_…Pain…_

I heard a voice calling out someone's name. Chase. Did I know who that was?

A flood of comprehension crashed over me. _Dar-Meena!_ The metallic ring of the dragon's roar was dread to my ears. I commanded my broken body to stand, chest twinging in reply. The young thief was at the top of the cliff peering down.

"_Go_! Get out of here!" I cried to her.

She retreated down the rocks out of sight. I snapped my broken fingers back into place, flashing brief spell castings to dull the hurt.

In front of me was a mining camp, abandoned. Or razed judging from the host of charred corpses. I was near the summit of a mountain – the horizon dropped off in the distance. There were damaged wood lodgings, crates filled with ore, pickaxes, shovels, and a smelter left cold. Among the ruins of the camp were even older ruins, crumbled columns of decorative stone brick. They reminded me of Bleak Falls Barrow.

To the dragon sailing high in the sky I hollered, demanding its attention. A single thought directed me: _keep the dragon away from Dar-Meena._

"Down here! Come at me, you monster! Dir nau daar zahkrii, nunon med laat!"

I startled. Those words… they were not of a language I knew, yet somehow I thought to speak them. They seemed to come from another place beyond my mind. From the knowledge of another being…

"Zu'u eim hin jur Dovakiin, kriid do Mirmulnir," the dragon thundered in retort. "Your defeat brings me honor!"

Sunlight blotted out as the beast spread its wings and slowed to a hard landing dead in front of me. Dust blew into my eyes. In the haze of my vision a bright orange light flickered in the wyrm's maw. There was a narrow wedge at my right between a stone wall and the cliff face. I ran into it, fire blasting at my back.

The dragon bent its neck and redirected its breath into the wedge. Straining to bend in such a tight space, I threw a ward behind me. It was not strong enough to hold back the fire. I cast a second ward with my other hand. Together they bought time enough to outlast the flames.

I pushed through the crevice to the other side with haste, squirming to keep the rock from pressing against my broken ribs. The wall against the cliff curved outward, giving me room to breathe again. Bright light filtered above through the needles of pine trees. I stumbled and hurried around the corner toward a small wooden lodge.

The dragon Shouted another Thu'um the instant I stepped into its vision.

"YOL… TOOR SHUL!"

I jumped clear of the fire and scrambled through a hole broken in the back wall of the small lodge. There were straw beds lying on the floor. Crouching down in the shade, I pulled out my crossbow and grabbed a bolt to load it with, hands trembling. I could not ignore the terrible pain in my chest, nor the blood pouring down my pant leg.

_Stay calm, Okan-Zeeus. _My thoughts swam furiously as I planned a course of action. I told myself this battle was like any other, one I could still win. I needed options, a better layout of the grounds, avenues for attack. It was kill or die.

"Tsarkk xhe nohn'daa… Ophik tsaxeh'thu…" I hissed, cranking back the crossbow's loading lever.

There was a loud crash overhead as the dragon smashed its tail through the top half of the lodge. A shower of wood rained over me. I hurled myself out of the ruined building into the sun and drew Xehtasken with my free hand. A leaning column of brick stood nearby. I put it between myself and the dragon.

Four thumping steps I counted before deeming the wyrm near enough. I spun out of cover, crossbow aimed. The bolt released and impaled above the dragon's eye. My aim was off by the thin of a feather, but the beast still flinched. I dashed forward and streaked Xehtasken across its scaly neck. My cut was shallow. The dragon recoiled with a growl and rose off the ground with a strong wing stroke. I breathed in the sudden dust cloud and doubled over, nearly choking on the pain of a simple cough.

The orange wyrm eased into a bank and flew around the mining camp. I stood in the open, burnt tufts of grass beneath my heels, and drew a better mental map of the camp. My sights set on the wall I had wedged myself behind.

It looked almost identical to the wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, the one that gave me the power to Shout. I took a step closer and heard it, that same strange rhythm, pulsing from a word in the wall, beckoning me to come near.

My odds against the dragon were bleak at best. The battle at Whiterun had been a very different scenario. I killed _that_ dragon with the assistance of a city's worth of armed combatants. The fire from this one told me it was stronger, and I was being forced to fight it while wounded. Completely alone.

If that wall promised another power I could use… I wanted it.

The dragon dove at me. Two wards were needed to block its swath of flame as it passed over. I was spending too much Magicka too quickly. The energy stems from one's soul and is comparable to fatigue. One must use it for a time then wait until the body has rested and replenished its supply. Those who train in magic can increase their pool of magicka in ways similar to physical conditioning. Magically speaking, I was not fit.

I ran at a speed within the limits of my injuries. A word singled out on the stone wall and began to glow. The dragon spun and descended toward me, wings outstretched and talons opened to seize its prey. I jumped aside before it could grab me and retaliated with a sword strike to its foot. The dragon flew out toward the morning horizon. As I watched it, I noted a view of the ocean. This mining camp was at an immensely high elevation. If that dragon had seized me and carried me over the edge…

I ran faster. My vision blurred and darkened the nearer I came to the wall. Soon the glowing word was all that remained. It imprinted in my mind's eye. I acquired my second word. I could feel it within me, a natural sensation, no different this time than the first.

"Laas…" I whispered to myself.

The word was without connotation. The dragon I slew had no knowledge of it.

It was useless to me.

The dragon landed. I stumbled and swore. My sight was still recovering.

_Move! Find cover!_

Relying on my mental map to see, I got away before the dragon could Shout and found myself wedged again into the crevice behind the wall. I felt like a rodent scurrying back into its knothole and growled at my foolishness.

This would have been the moment to heal my injuries if I had the desire. And I certainly did. The promise of relief was almost too great a temptation.

But I held myself back. I could not afford to spend what magicka I had left. There remained the dragon's breath to consider. Wards and healing drew from the same pool. If I healed my wounds only to face the wyrm's fire without defense, it would not matter how healthy I was. Either way, my ribs would have to stay broken. Restoration spells do not mend wounds themselves. They isolate injuries and bolster the body's natural healing process. A cut that will heal in a week conventionally can be closed in minutes magically.

Broken bones, however, take _months_ to mend on their own. Even with magic, my ribs would need at least several days to heal.

If my chest bones were struck again and shattered, the fragments would puncture my lungs or lodge into vital organs. Only a master of restoration could save me from that. I was barely an apprentice.

_If only I hadn't fallen…! _

As I leaned against the cold stone wall, the world became quiet. The dragon did not move. It waited patiently for me to appear from my hiding place. Panting heavily, I shut my eyes and indulged myself, drinking in the cool moment of respite. _This dragon shows mercy,_ I thought. It hurt even to breathe. I needed a way to kill the beast quickly. More importantly, I needed a safe way to escape the crevice.

I realized I had the means to do both at once.

My invisibility potion. The one I used against the necromancer, concocted from Nirnroot and vampire dust. If the dragon was waiting me out, I could approach it unseen and pierce Xehtasken into its skull. I could kill the beast _with stealth. _A fool's ploy yet again, but the last one succeeded. I had to try. It was my best chance to prevail.

I quietly ripped off my untorn pant leg and wrapped it around the gash on my thigh, securing it tightly with a knot. Invisibility would not stop me from leaving a blood trail. The cloth would soak up the wound. I scraped my boots in the gravel, making sure there was nothing on them that would stain my tracks. The rest would depend on footwork and balance.

Staring into the dark fluid of the potion in its vial, I raised the glass to my snout and swallowed all that was left. My vision became devoid of color, a sign that the effect had taken hold. I knew my river's course.

_Kill… or die…_

The dragon still waited. I stepped out from behind the wall and began my approach, footfalls silent but swift. The potion would last less than a minute. Casting a spell would cancel the effect, as would contact with the dragon. I'd become visible upon the moment of my strike. I had to position myself just so.

_Kill or die… _

The dragon craned its head and scanned the mining camp. It could not detect my presence drawing near. The sensation of sneaking toward my target evoked memories of countless dead drops, unwary souls snuffed in the dead of night, silence spilling from their throats. Yet this would be unlike all the others.

_Kill or die._

Half-way there. I drew Xehtasken without making a sound, a primal desire to slay the dragon rising in me. _This is no human, no Saxhleel. This is a kill worthy of me. A true foe. An equal._ These were my impressions, though I knew not where they came from. What was it about fighting dragons that stirred me?

_Kill… _

The wyrm closed its eyes and spoke a Thu'um.

"Laas… Yah Nir!"

When it opened them again, a red wisp-like glow emanated from the sockets. Deliberately it bent its stare in my direction, puffing out a plumb of smoke from its nostrils. I shuddered. It was not glancing at the cliff.

The dragon could see me.

"_No_!" I cried as I thrust out my hands, casting dual wards against the dragon's blazing breath. I fell to a knee. The heat of the flames reached my scales, telling me what lied on the other side of my aetherial shields. As the dragon's Shout subsided, my magicka was nearly drained. Another Thu'um meant death.

I saw all the places I couldn't flee. I saw everywhere I couldn't run. Escape was through the fire. Words hollered in my head:

_Find a way! Kill or die!_

I clutched Xehtasken and charged. The dragon saw how weakened I was. To it, these were my final moments. They would decide everything. The beast tried to boulder me over with a swing of its head. I dodged and slashed. Blood speckled the dirt. With a whirl of its body, it tried to swipe me with its tail. I vaulted over and stabbed. More blood.

_Pierce its skull! Hurry!_ The pain was becoming worse. I ducked beneath the crook of the dragon's wing and sprang up beside its eye. The wyrm… chuckled. It sounded ominous coming from a voice so deep. I circle strafed, putting the sun at my back, and welled up a Shout. One last surprise.

"FUS!"

A clap of force shot from my mouth. It hit the monster head on…

…like a harmless gentle breeze. The dragon sneered.

"FUS… RO DAH!"

Its Thu'um hurled forth and slammed into me. I was lifted off my feet with terrible velocity, skidding across the dirt on my back, stopping just shy of the rocks that dropped off the mountain's edge. I clutched my chest, gasping in agony. Xehtasken laid an arm's length away. I rolled onto my side and stretched out to grasp it. Plodding steps from a giant creature shook the ground.

I felt my claws wrap around the sword's leather handle. Whipping onto my back again, I pointed my blade at the dragon… looming closer …

My eyes dilated. My lungs were short of breath. Seconds became minutes. I kept my sword raised, tried to think. What could I do? What did I have left?

The answer was _nothing_. I had nothing left.

I was knocked down, wounded and without defense. The wyrm would burn me alive as soon as my muscles twitched. Two choices remained: I could die in flames or throw myself off the mountain. The result was the same.

"YOL…."

The victor had been decided. I challenged the dragon and lost.

"…TOOR–"

An arrow struck its eye. The monster recoiled, interrupting its Shout, and bellowed a rancorous roar. A chill shivered down my back. I turned and looked, hoping against all hope that it wasn't…

Dar-Meena. Perched on a slope of bluffs beyond, she stood with her bow raised.

_Why!? Why did she come here!?_

That fool girl. I had already lost. I couldn't kill the dragon. I couldn't protect her.

_Xhuth! I should have left her in Riften! This is all my fault!_

Those timeless words, spoken to me so long ago…

_A bringer of death has no place among the living! Why did I involve her!?_

Everywhere I go, death has always followed…

Always.

Leifnaar was dead. Mahei-Ru was dead. Selvia, dead. Achel, dead. Calls-From-Afar, dead. Kurash, dead. Roland, dead. Ixtha-Kai, Veethei, Xal-Dus, Asska. Dead, dead, dead, dead.

Dan-Xu.

Dead.

Milah.

Dead.

All dead because of _me. _Because I killed them. Because I couldn't save them.

_And now…!_

Dar-Meena.

_…No…_

I clenched my teeth.

_No!_

I was still breathing. I still had my life. The dragon hadn't won. Not yet.

_NO!_

I blocked out my senses and shot to my feet, gripping Xehtasken, pouring all that was left of me into one last dead rush. I feared no pain. I consigned my death. There was only one goal: _win. _Nothing else mattered.

I would not depart the world a killer _and _a failure.

_I will not let her die!_

The dragon saw me running and flexed its jowl to Shout. I raised my arm to shield my eyes. Fire cascaded. I did not stop, even as the flames engulfed me and my whole body screamed.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_The rules behind healing spells are my creation. I needed a plausible way to explain how they functioned without making them too OP. In essence, healing spells only augment the body's existing processes. The more fatal the wound, the harder it is to heal. As a side note, age also affects healing spells. An older individual whose body is in poor shape will get less out of a healing spell than someone younger and healthier. Otherwise, if you think about it, healing spells could be used to keep a person alive indefinitely._


	40. Arc 2 - Chapter 16

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 16 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

The dragon was about to burn Chase alive. I'd thought I was too late. But I shot an arrow at it anyway, just hoping I could distract it.

Then Chase sprang up and stormed the dragon. I held my breath and watched him run right into its fire. I thought he was dead. Who could survive that? Then the dragon's breath stopped. Everything stopped. The dragon stood with its mouth open, eyes widening in surprise. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

Chase had _rammed his sword_ up through the dragon's open mouth!

The giant lizard slumped dead to the ground!

_He… did it…! He actually did it! He killed a dragon!_

The man left his sword lodged in the dragon's palate and staggered back with a wobble in his step. All of a sudden flames broke out over the beast's body. It started burning up on its own. I heard a rush like wind and saw bands of bright light fly toward Chase. They became a glowing aura around him and slowly disappeared, while the dragon's body melted away till only its skeleton was left.

The shock wore off and I snapped back to my senses.

"What… just happened?" I whispered.

Chase stood still for a moment. His legs buckled. He collapsed on the ground.

"Oh, son of a bitch!" I slid down the rocks and ran to him.

Chase was unconscious, his breathing shallow. I skidded to a halt and knelt down by him. A nasty cut on his leg had been tied up with a piece of cloth. There were dark burns streaked across his armor. Most of his body had been covered against the dragon's fire, but not all of it. One of his legs, his hands, and his face were marked. The burns weren't as bad as mine… but you could still see them. They made patches of his scales look dried-up and leathery.

His injuries looked bad, but not _that_ bad. Why did he collapse? I pulled off his knapsack and carefully unbuckled his cuirass to try and figure out what was wrong. Beneath his undershirt I saw dark lines across his scar riddled chest. They looked like bruises. They were getting bigger.

Something was bleeding on the inside.

_Dammit, what do I do!? _Chase was in trouble and I didn't know how to help. I looked around the mining camp, seeing a bunch of wooden shacks still intact. The miners might have kept healing supplies, so I left Chase's side and hurried to search.

The first lodge was a bust. I ransacked everything – shelves, chests, bags, whatever. The closest thing to a potion I could find was a bottle of ale. I grew more nervous with each minute passing by. Chase's condition had to be getting worse. I didn't come back for that man just so he could die on me.

To think I almost didn't come back for him at all… The moment I saw that dragon…

Second lodge. Most of it was burned down. Inside was a charred desk with ledgers and records, along with a double bed and some barrels for storage. Again I searched painstakingly. I found bandages, which was a start, but Chase needed more than that. There was something in a basket beneath the bed with a green flask inside. I took the flask. The paper plastered on it read 'Potion of Enhanced Stamina.'

It was the best thing I could find. Stamina wouldn't hurt, would it? I had to least try to get Chase conscious again. Without any healing potions, his own magic was the only thing left that could save him. I returned to the spot where he was lying and stooped down to help him drink from the flask, muttering to myself.

_This had better work…_

There was a twitch in his face muscles. He winced as I rested him back down again.

"Chase? Chase, can you hear me?"

He stayed unresponsive. I could tell from his expression he was in terrible pain. I said his name again and saw his eyelids move, but he still didn't quite come around. So I did the only left I could do. I got mad.

"_Hey_! Wake up, dammit! I know you can hear this! You're badly bleeding! I can't do anything about it! You have to heal yourself or you're going to die!"

Chase groaned and bent his arms, eyes half open, unfocused. He must have heard me because he finally raised a hand over his chest and cast a healing spell. Bright yellow bands wrapped around the site of his wound. He could only hold it for a few seconds, though, before he gave out, eyes closed again. His breathing was steadier.

"Chase…?"

I almost couldn't hear him. His voice was weak and interrupted with heavy breaths.

"…sound…"

I bent closer. "What?"

"…your voice... good for waking up…"

I threw my head back with a loud sigh.

"Well, I'm happy my voice could save your sorry ass," I retorted, staring down at him.

Chase was too tired to speak. I don't think his wounds were completely healed. Even a dragon slayer has his limits, I guess. He must have lost a lot of blood. I took the bandages I'd found and wrapped up the gash on his leg as best as I could. It would have to do until Chase could cast another spell.

I came to my feet and walked to the rocks overlooking the land below. The mining camp had quite a scenic view. I could see mountains, the ocean, rivers, volcanic tundra…

_You could always leave him here. Give him a taste of his own medicine, _I thought, still upset at Chase for everything. But leaving him would be poor revenge. He'd just go back to wandering and forget about me. I still wanted answers, so that wasn't happening. Besides… I didn't _really _want to leave. After loitering for a while I went back to where Chase laid sleeping and sat on a rock.

It was pretty cold out. I remembered I kept Chase's blanket with me. Thought he would appreciate getting it back…

~ooooo~

Chase woke up the next dim morning staring weirdly at nothing. He glanced at the sleeping cot beneath him, then the cover keeping him warm, then tried to prop himself up on his elbows. Chase looked calm but confused.

"Daedra and divines, finally!" I said, perking up. "Are you _done sleeping_?"

He grunted at the pain in his chest and laid back down, casting a healing spell over himself for a while.

"I think so… For now…"

I went back to cooking. "Good. Food's almost ready."

Chase noticed the small smokeless fire I fed with twigs. I held a cast iron pan over it, sitting on my rock, wrapped tightly in a blanket. There was the sound of sizzling eggs. He laid back his head, propped up by his horns. _Those things have got to make his neck sore when he sleeps on them…_

"I recall yelling at you to get away from here," he spoke in a hoarse voice, "after the dragon showed up."

I frowned. "Uh-huh? Well, whaddya know. I didn't listen."

I began waiting for an excuse to snap at him. Chase stared up into the clear air.

"Yes… and this one will forever be grateful for it," he said softly.

His words took away my edge. I let Chase off the hook. It was a nice reassurance that going back for him had been the right thing to do. I think I would have regretted leaving a lot more.

"Let's just remember the assassins and call it even," I said.

"Hmm…" He closed his eyes. "The sun is rising. How many days?"

"Only one. You kept slipping in and out for most of it."

He noticed the dragon's skeleton next to us.

"You didn't move me…"

"Seemed like a bad idea. You're lucky it didn't rain."

"Lucky? Rain would have helped me sleep better."

"Seriously? Ew… I could never sleep in the rain."

Chase craned his neck and gawped at me. "Are you really an Argonian?"

I slapped a metal plate down beside him. "Shut up and eat."

The camp had some dining ware still lying around. Miners weren't using any of it, so I helped myself. So nice of them to leave all their stuff for us! It made breakfast seem a little less like wilderness survival and more like culture. I put half of the eggs on his plate. Chase smelled the food and gave his chops a lick.

"Before you ask, no," I said, "I don't know what kind of eggs these are."

"I do," he replied. "Rock Warbler. There's a certain scent to them when–"

"I didn't ask for a lecture."

The eggs tasted pretty good, even better salted. I devoured my meal with a vengeance. Chase didn't touch his food though. He stared at his plate with a faraway look.

"Why are we doing this?" he asked. "You must have many questions…"

"Oh, you bet I do," I came back at him brashly, between bites, "but I don't want you passing out on me or some shit. Get your strength back first. Then we'll talk."

Chase resigned and took the food. Hungry or not, he probably needed it. He finished eating after me and set his plate aside. I was still growling for more, but I didn't complain. I was lucky to have even found the eggs that I did. We would've eaten better if Chase had been the one scavenging instead of me. I'd used up all the food I had left the day before. He rested his hands on his stomach and flicked his gaze in my direction.

"Go ahead. Ask what you want," he said. "I am not leaving this spot anytime soon."

I hunched forward. "You're actually going to give me answers this time?"

"I will tell you whatever I can."

That was as good as I was going to get. I started with the first and obvious question.

"Okay, Chase. What are you?" I asked. "No bullshit. You killed a dragon and… I don't know, _light_ flew into you. What was that?"

His eyes narrowed. "Those seem like two different questions…"

I kicked some dust in his face. He couldn't shield himself in time and flinched.

"I said no bullshit."

"It was merely a statement!" He spat dirt out of his mouth. After taking moment to think Chase spoke again, his stare fixed on the sky. "Dar-Meena… You heard the shout from a few days ago, yes? The one calling 'Dovahkiin?'"

"Sure I did. What about it?"

"Do you know why it happened?"

"Don't make me kick _you_ this time."

He paused. "The shout came from a group of holy men here in Skyrim. The Greybeards. They were summoning a Dragonborn to their monastery." Chase turned to me with a somber expression. "They were summoning me."

I quit glaring and sat up slowly.

"Dragonborn?" My voice was quiet. "You're… _Dragonborn?_ You mean like Martin Septim or old Tiber?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "I do not think I possess any royal blood. The Septim emperors were Dragonborn by incidence."

"Then what does it mean to be Dragonborn?"

"I am still discovering that for myself." Chase shot upright, despite the twinge that made him clutch his chest. "Wait, you've reminded me! I have to try something…!"

"Huh?"

I watched him close his eyes and breathe in through his nostrils. He looked relaxed.

"Laas!" he spoke. When his eyes opened they were glowing with a bright red haze and quickly broadened. "By the Hist!" He darted his head every which way. I almost jumped to my feet.

"What in Oblivion…!? Chase, what are you doing!?"

"I can sense… all auras of life around me! Every size and form imaginable! This is incredible!" His astonishment became brooding. "Xhuth… Small wonder it was able to see me…"

"What was able to see you?" I asked, caught up in his amazement.

The glow in Chase's eyes faded away. I guess his vision returned to normal. He settled down.

"It does not matter now," he said, dismissing my question. "What matters is _this_ – what you just saw. My Thu'um."

"Your… thum?"

"No, he pronounced it Thu'um. The Jarl of Whiterun, I mean."

"Chase, you've completely lost me."

He let air out of his nostrils and laid back down, casting another healing spell on his chest. Chase explained to me what a Thu'um was and how the dragons could invoke it. I pieced together the important bits of what he said.

"So the dragons… _Shout_… and because you're Dragonborn… you can too?"

"Put simply, yes," he said. "By killing them, I can take their power and use it for myself. That is what you saw the day before." Chase turned to the dragon's skeleton. "I stole this one's power."

"You aren't kidding, huh?" I whispered. "And the Greybeards… They summoned you? What for?"

"The Greybeards are masters of Shouting. They summoned me to their monastery for training. It is apparently an ancient tradition."

I know I said I wanted answers, but these were definitely not the kind of answers I was expecting. It all sounded like something out of a fable, a damn hero's tale. I was rapt in the conversation, holding my tail in my lap with both hands.

"Is this why you kept trying so hard to get rid of me?" I asked. "Because you're Dragonborn?"

"No… There are other reasons for that," he said, glancing away. "Truthfully told, before I met you I meant to ignore the Greybeard's summons."

"What? Why?"

"I did not want to believe it," he sighed in shame. "I denied that I was Dragonborn. I wanted nothing to do with the Greybeards, or the dragons, or even Skyrim. But all that has passed. I see now I cannot run from this. I have been bent against my will by the world enough times to know…"

"You make it sound like you're a slave," I said.

"If I am a slave to anything, it is fate," he replied.

What was with his outlook? It seemed completely different than when I first met him.

"Okay, you're Dragonborn," I said. "So what? No one's forcing you to do anything about it."

He scowled at me. "An easy thing to say in your position. Hear this: Nord legends speak of the Dragonborn as ancient dragon slayers. My arrival in Skyrim happened to coincide with that of these dragons, and only by killing one did I discover that I am Dragonborn." He laid his head back shut his eyes tight. "My fate is somehow tied to the dragons returning. I find myself wondering if providence has brought me north, rather than my own intentions."

I was confused. "Wait, didn't you just kill this dragon? I thought you knew you were Dragonborn before that…"

"I discovered it after killing my _first _dragon," he hissed. "This was my second. The other had been sieging the city of Whiterun."

My mouth gaped open. Chase continued.

"How many people can claim to have slain two dragons in this era? I can wield their magic against them and possess a killer's instincts. Who is better suited to fight them than I?"

"You're not saying what I think you're saying…"

"Dragons are returning, Dar-Meena. If I have the power to stop them," he said, "then I am obliged to do so. I will fight them for Skyrim's peace."

"You're insane!" I exclaimed. "You can't put that kind of burden on yourself!"

"Protecting an entire province? Yes, that burden is heavy… but also familiar. I carried it once in another life."

"So…?"

"So I will carry it again, in a different way, against a different foe."

What are you supposed to say to something like that? 'Good luck killing all the dragons!' 'Try not to get burned alive!' He was dead-set on suicide. Chase was embracing his own self-imposed destiny as some dragon slayer of fate!

But he was _Dragonborn_. I believed him. How could I not after everything I'd seen?

My problems seemed small compared to the ones Chase had, but they met on similar lines. Before we met, he didn't want to shoulder his burden as Dragonborn and tried to run. It didn't work. I kept searching for a band of thieves to replace the one I lost. I couldn't. It was time for both of us to try something different.

New beginnings start with new opportunities. And I realized I suddenly had a very big, very terrifying opportunity.

"You're going to go see these Greybeards, then?" I said.

"Yes. I will." He cast another spell on himself.

"Great!" I beamed. "I hope their training is actually good. You'll need it."

Chase stopped spellcasting and looked at me with concern.

"Dar-Meena," he spoke slowly, "why do I dislike this tone of yours…?"

I shrugged innocently. "I don't know. Maybe you'll find out by the time we reach the Greybeards."

Chase stopped to think then sat up again, carefully.

"_We_?" he said.

"Yes," I said.

"No!" he snapped. "You are not coming with me!"

I shook my head. "We're way past this argument, Chase. I don't need you storming away and falling off another cliff. You brought me out here, you got me into your world of dragons – you're stuck with me."

Chase groaned and buried his head in his hand.

"Is there no reasoning with you?" he practically pleaded.

"You're welcome to try," I snorted, "but I'm not letting this opportunity slip away."

He glared at me with wide-eyes. "_Opportunity_!? For what?"

"A mutual enterprise," I said with a sly smile. "You're a dragon slayer, Chase. That's about to become a burgeoning line of work here in Skyrim, maybe even a lucrative one. And after what I saw yesterday? I'm pretty sure you'll be hard for rivalry. But you're going to need help."

Chase held his stare with complete refusal to believe his ears.

"Dar-Meena, you would turn this into a business proposition?"

"Blame my mother. She wanted a merchant."

"Why should I accept your help?"

"I told you. You need it."

"That has yet to be…"

Chase stopped himself. He realized what he was about to say. Too late, though. I heard it.

"_Excuse me_?" I growled. "If I hadn't come back for you, you would have died! Wouldn't have made two shits of a difference if you were Dragonborn _then_, would it?"

There was a moment of silence. I sighed and leaned in closer.

"Dammit Chase, you have to be alive to kill dragons. Face it. You can't do this alone. Or are you going to fight every dragon in Skyrim all by yourself?" I tried to mimic his signature seriousness.

"You would fight them with me?" Chase retorted. "Why? I would never ask someone to be so courageous on my behalf."

I grinned. "I don't need courage. That's what you're for."

He gave me a fierce glare. "Then am I a means to your personal gain? Someone to use and discard? I thought you were better than this."

"I don't want to use you, Chase. I want to _help _you. This is bigger than the both of us. Can't you see that?"

"I see it very clearly. What I do not see is why I should accept the help of someone seeking to profit from dragon slaying."

Profits would be an added benefit. Whatever I had to gain from this, I knew that the dragons still needed to be stopped. My personal wealth and ambitions wouldn't amount to anything if all of Tamriel was burned to the ground.

"Come on… do you think I'm doing this just because I'm selfish?" I said in a saddening voice. "Why can't I have more than one reason? Maybe I like you. Maybe I don't want cities getting sacked by dragons."

Chase scoffed. "I choose my allies cautiously, Dar-Meena. I need more than words to believe your motives."

"I have a mother and sister back in Cyrodiil! What if the dragons decide to go south? I may look out for myself more than others, but I'm not heartless! Don't try to put me in a box. People aren't single minded."

"People also hold some priorities over others. The question is, what will you prioritize when the moment is dire?"

I frowned at Chase. He was acting like all the rest – thinking the worst of me even as I extended my hand. Did he expect me to conform to his code of honor? Or was I just not 'good' enough for him?

_What were those great things you said you saw in me? Lie through your teeth all you want to, Chase. I can tell what you really think of me._

"I'll keep saying it: _I want to help you_," I said. "Won't you let me?"

Chase looked away at the dragon's skeleton.

"You do not know who I am… or the people who want me dead," he replied quietly. "You are endangering yourself more than you could imagine."

"It's not like we have to make this long term," I said. "Once we're done dealing with dragons, we'll go our separate ways. Does that satisfy you?"

Chase's face crumpled. "You make dealing with dragons sound _casual_…"

"Well?"

He took his sweet time before speaking again. The wind blew dust through the dragon's bones. Chase took in a breath.

"My wounds will need a few days to heal," he said. "Allow me the chance to think over your offer. This is not a pact I want to make lightly."

"Do you mean that? You won't use this time to try and ditch me?"

Chase grimaced, but sighed in resignation. "You have my word."

I couldn't possibly know what that word was worth, but if it made him feel better…

"Fine by me," I said. "We'll do it your way."

Chase was content with our compromise. He rested his heavy eyelids and breathed out. "I will regret asking this, but… was there anything else you wanted to ask me?"

"Sure. How in Oblivion did you survive the dragon's fire?"

He forced his eyes open again and pondered my question for himself.

"I was not in the fire for long," he said. "Though the pain _was_ excruciating..."

"I wasn't in it for long either when I… you know." I rubbed my shoulder. "Your burns don't look half as bad as mine."

"Hmm… A flame is weakest at the base…"

"Huh?"

"Dodging fire only gets you burned, Dar-Meena. I jumped into the source, the dragon's mouth. That meant lesser wounds."

I tilted my head. "You really think that's it?"

"I have no better explanation," he said.

"If you say so," I sighed. "There's something else I wanted to ask you…"

Chase let out a groan and lied over on his side. He'd had his fill. Too bad he didn't realize napping would only give him temporary escape.

I started thinking up more questions to torture him with.

~ooooo~

Two days passed. I remember coming back to the mining camp one evening with a handful of food – more eggs, some mushrooms, a few leaf greens, and even a squirrel. Chase's foraging advice had been pure gold. I felt proud of myself for catching on so quickly. As I scaled down the rocks to where Chase's bed laid, I saw it was empty. He was back on his feet, standing on a rock overlooking the mountain vista.

Chase turned to me with a calm and happy expression, tail swaying slowly. He somehow looked less lanky with his armor off. More lean and fit. The sun made his scales a stunning shade of orange-red. He stepped down from his rock and walked over to me, frowning at the sight of my food.

"Those aren't frost mirriam leaves," he said.

"What?" I startled. "What do you mean they aren't? You said green, fan-shaped leaves!"

"These are serrated and alternate along the stem. Pairs of frost mirriam leaves grow opposite to one another."

_That matters!? Oh for gods' sake… _

"Didn't think to tell me that?" I grumbled as I set my collection of plants on a rock, untying the squirrel from my belt squeamishly. Chase smiled and started acting sympathetic. I knew he would. He was predictable like that.

"There's no need to be upset. The rest you have is good." He took another look and reconsidered. "Though that squirrel looks botched… You used your paralyzing poison?"

"I meant to catch something bigger," I protested. "I forgot about it, okay?"

He placed his hands on his hip. "A body so small will not dilute the poison much… Cooking the meat should help, but eating it might still bring unpleasant side effects. Better safe than sorry."

"Sure! Fine! It's not like I had to make an impossible shot to drop this thing," I snapped, tossing the squirrel over the cliff by its tail. I glared back at Chase. "Anything else you want to throw away?"

He held up his hands with a meek grin. "This was only your third time, Dar-Meena. You did well considering that."

I took the compliment and sat down while Chase started a fire. The past couple of days had been mostly awful – frustrating hunts for food and hours spent sitting around doing nothing. Chase the cripple was my only source of entertainment. We killed time with conversations, the majority of which I had to start. There were still plenty things I couldn't get him to talk about. Anything that hinted at his identity was a discussion stopper.

I had to admit to myself that I liked talking with him, though. He was always relaxed and attentive, never short of surprising things to say.

Once our food was ready we ate quickly. Chase gathered his belongings afterwards and donned his armor. There were still scorch marks on the leather and one of his pant legs was missing. Couldn't decide if it made him look scary or silly.

I stood up and folded my arms. Chase was about to give me his decision.

"So what'll it be? Are we working together?"

His lighthearted mood had gone away. He threw his knapsack over and bent down to grab his sword.

"There is no talking you out of this, is there?" he lamented.

I gave him a hard look, still waiting for my answer. Chase lingered.

"I will accept your help," he said. His voice harshened, along with his body language. "_But._ I have two strict conditions."

"Fine. Shoot."

He held up a first claw. "You will not speak of me to anyone in passing or conversation unless I am present with you." He held up a second claw. "And you will follow my exact instructions when I tell you there is a threat lurking. We will be under constant danger from the shadows. I cannot have you jeopardizing both our lives carelessly. I need to know I can trust you when it will count the most. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"I understand," I said without snark or wittiness. He could trust me. I wanted him to know that.

Chase finished strapping his sword to his waist, easing the tightness in his shoulders. "Xhu. And when the time comes for us to part ways," he added, "you will forget everything we've done together and speak as though it did not happen."

I flicked my eyes up with a huff. "Had to get in the last word, huh?"

Chase glanced at me. His eyes had that killer look in them. "If my enemies discover our association, they will seek you out. They will extract my whereabouts from you – _torture_ you, if they have to – and they will kill you. I am giving you fair warning."

The way he said that made my scales crawl. I knew he was trying one last fear tactic to scare me away, but the hatred in his voice had no hint of exaggeration. He meant every word.

_No backing out now, _I thought to myself. I couldn't imagine anything that would be worse than dragons. We went to a steep hill and climbed our way up, returning to the forest where the assassins had attacked us. My ears twitched at every sound I heard.

"Where are we going?" I asked, reaching the top of the hill shortly after Chase. "Tell me you know where to find these Greybeards."

He stopped and pointed at a tall mountain in the distance, towering over the trees. "Their monastery is at the top of that mountain, the Throat of the World," he said. "We will be climbing the Seven Thousand Steps to reach it."

I froze. "The _what_?"

Chase walked, tail swaying with his legs. "You insist on following me. I hope you are fond of hiking. No regrets?"

_Bastard! He purposely waited to tell me that!_

I growled and marched up beside him.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_Reinhardt mentions a game called "Steel Hearts." This is a legitimate thing in TES lore, at least according to Kodlak and Skjor. They will speak of the game in a randomly triggered conversation, though no more information is given beyond the name. Nonetheless, I'm glad I found an excuse to use this little nugget._


	41. Arc 2 - Chapter 17

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 17 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

"Don't touch those," Falura said, caught up in her reading.

I took my hand away from the stack of books and reclined in my chair with an elbow on the armrest, fist in cheek.

"There a problem? I can read too, can't I?" I said in a mushed voice.

"I'm cross-referencing sources. I want to keep my books organized where I'll remember them," she replied.

Her books were scattered all over her table in a big messy jumble. Pieces of scrap paper stuck out between pages, riddled with notes she'd written in chicken scratch. Some were balled up on the floor. Aren't organized and orderly supposed to mean the same thing?

"I'll put it back when I'm done," I said.

Falura set her book down and opened another one.

"Very well. Let me know which one you're borrowing, if you would."

I scooped up a grey hardcover. Its title was printed on the front with shiny gold text.

"_A Discourse on 'Twin Secrets,_" I read aloud.

"Oh… that one isn't about the Greybeards," she said. "That covers enchantment theory. It's for a pet project I'm working on."

"Huh. Alright," I grunted. I wanted to read it anyway. I opened up to a random page in the middle and silently mouthed along, stopping at a pair of words. "What's runic concanetation?"

"_Concatenation,_" Falura corrected. "Reinhardt, that book is too advanced for you. I haven't the time to explain the Law of Firsts. Go bother one of the college instructors about it if you're curious."

I wasn't _that_ curious. I set the book back on the table. Probably for the best – I couldn't remember the last time I actually read a book. Must've been years ago while I still living with Julia in the Imperial City. I lounged in my chair again and gave my eyes the leave to wander where they wanted. Felt a wee bit out of place sitting in the College of Winterhold's Arcanaeum. The hushed indoors and bad weather outdoors were a perfect recipe for cabin fever.

Falura said we had to go here, though. She needed to gather more information to plan our next move. If it meant finding dragons to fight, that's all I cared about.

Besides, I was her bodyguard. I stayed where she stayed. I knew what I signed on for.

~ooooo~

Let me backtrack a bit. The dragon had just been defeated. I'd struck the killing blow to the winged white beast and climbed on top of its head to cut off one of its horn – a trophy for the grandkids someday. I was so swept up in the exhilaration of the moment that I overlooked the Companions and their, uh… transformations.

"Did you _see that_!?" I shouted to Falura.

She grinned, walking up to me through the snow.

"I certainly did see it. You are welcome, by the way."

"Eh? Welcome for…" _Oh, that's right. My sword caught on fire. _That must've been her doing. I trailed away and turned to the Companions gathering at the dragon's tail end. The two werewolves that fought alongside us changed into humans. Farkas and Aela. They were back to their normal selves, fully clothed and armored. I rubbed my eyes hoping they might've been blurry from the wind. When I discovered they weren't, I quit disbelieving them and admitted what I saw.

The Companions were werewolves.

"Now that was a battle!" Vilkas hooted.

"Happy?" Aela replied. "You can say you've killed one of every creature in Skyrim again."

"Aye. I'll have to make that trip to Morrowind after all…"

"No you won't. You'd be bored to tears," Farkas mocked. "Nothing there could be bigger than this."

I jumped down from the dragon, boots landing in slush. The clothes under my armor were soaked with sweat. Wind kept blowing in my face, but I couldn't tell hot from cold anymore. As I joined the trio of warriors, they welcomed the sight of me heartily.

"Reinhardt. You fought well, new blood," Vilkas said, his steel gauntlet clanking on my shoulder. "You've earned your keep in Jorrvaskr!"

It was supposed to be a joyful moment, but the praise felt empty. I hadn't carried much weight in the fight. Didn't sink a single arrow into that monster's hide. I might've finished it off, but only after the others had weakened it. That was the only blow I really dealt. You could say I was a tagalong and you wouldn't be wrong. My 'new blood' sure showed.

I shunned these thoughts. Only milk drinkers wallow in their victories.

"Didn't I promise we'd have a story when this was done?"Aela chimed in with a smirk.

"I wasn't expecting a story with werewolves," I said.

Aela's smile faded. "And here I thought I hadn't been subtle enough. You're as thick as they come."

Falura arrived to partake in the talk, walking with her staff.

"Why didn't you mention you were lycanthropes?" she asked gently. "We could have planned this hunt better."

"It's not common knowledge," Vilkas retorted, "and we'd rather keep it that way."

"Some cowards in this land can't stand the sight of glory," Aela added.

"Your secret would have remained safe with me," Falura insisted. "We of the Telvanni do not shun lycanthropy or sanguinare vampiris, as so many others do."

Aela shook her head. "Still not worth chancing. Our blood has been a well-guarded secret for generations."

_Ysmir's beard… The Companions have _always _been werewolves…?_

So much for my childhood fantasies.

"What does it matter?" Vilkas said. "We fought the beast and won. It gave us an honorable battle, one worth singing about!" His tone sounded reverent. He acknowledged the might of our fallen opponent.

Falura looked at the dragon's corpse with longing. "Such a waste. If only we could have studied it alive… Oh, but I won't diminish what we've accomplished here." She paused and bowed to the Companions. "You have done all that I asked and wanted. I believe your reward is due."

She handed Vilkas a signed missive to send to her estate. He took it with a nod and unfolded it, glossing over the words all business-like.

Vilkas suddenly frowned. "You offered eight thousand," he said.

"I changed it," Falura replied.

Aela looked over the man's shoulder. "Changed it to what?"

Falura stuffed a hand in her robe coat. "Ten thousand," she said. "A marginal increase, but you risked much coming here with me. I oughtn't let that go without recompense."

"That's generous of you," Farkas remarked.

"Or brave," Falura chuckled. "I will have to justify this profligacy to my steward when I return home. Easier to soothe a pack of hungry nix-hounds with flute and lyre."

Vilkas stuffed the letter into his chest plate. The elf woman looked at me with pity. I could tell what was on her mind.

"You need not remain a volunteer if you–"

"Forget it, lady." I waved her off. "Like I said, this wasn't about the money. I got what I came for." Not that it wasn't tempting to take her offer.

Falura gave a curt nod. "Very well. Excuse me, all of you. I need to perform some tests on the dragon while it's still warm."

She drew near the dragon's corpse and set her bag down in the snow, pulling out a bunch of little glass instruments and metal looking things. Red blood poured from the beast's wounds as if it were still living. Gave me a picture of the beast waking up all of the sudden, whooshing away into to the sky.

Ysmir's beard, that dragon… Nothing else I'd ever fought could match. I can't even put it into words. You have fight one for yourself to know what it's like. I'd close my eyes and still feel the battle raging on like an afterimage, muscles tensing and twitching.

But the werewolves had been an even bigger shock. Aela and Farkas gave that dragon a damn hard beating! I never dreamed that Hircine's disease could grant such power. The Companions were an impressive guild of warriors, but the beast blood let them surpass the limits of their bodies. They could fight toe-to-toe with dragons _bare fisted_. You can't say that kind of strength doesn't have its allure.

Speaking of allure, Aela was studying me with curiosity.

"Something the matter? You're awfully quiet all of a sudden," she said.

"Shor's bones, I just found out the Companions of Ysgramor are werewolves," I grumbled. "Can't give me a minute to let that settle in? Next thing I know you're gonna turn _me _into one too!"

Aela laughed. "Not all Companions are werewolves. Only members of the Circle. If it bothers you that much, perhaps we shouldn't have let you come here."

"Woah there, you didn't _let me_ come here," I snorted. "That's not how we're spinning this yarn."

"It _was_ something we discussed," Vilkas admitted, glancing at the others. "We knew there was a chance we would have to use the blood to win."

I stared blankly.

"Hahaha! Ah, funny…!" My voice lowered. "Very funny_._ That's a good one. You'd actually think to leave me back in Jorrvaskr after I convinced you all to come here…"

"You're still a pup to this pack," Vilkas said. "We look after our new bloods whether they like it or not."

I stretched my smile. "Ohhhh, so I'm a little cub, am I? Does that mean you're my nan? Here to care for the wee babe?"

The man sneered. "You would be so lucky."

My eyebrows shot up. "Well then start doing your job, eh? You got a tit to suckle? Food to eat? Hope it's nice and soft, 'cause I'm too young to chew." I tauntingly slapped the side of my pants. "Hey, better yet? How about you come over here! I think I got some _soiled draws_ you can change."

"Ysgramor, it was a joke…"

"Oh, it's a joke? Is someone joking? Who's joking? Not me!" I stomped up to him and cracked my neck. "What're you waiting for you milk drinker? This shit won't clean itself!"

Vilkas pushed me with a growl. "Is that a challenge?"

I pushed back. "It ain't an invitation to dance! Come on, you snot nosed blowhard!"

And the snowball rolled down the hill.

First the insults, then the yelling, then the blows. All in good nature, of course! It was just like training but less for the sake of learning and more for the sake of stroking egos. Aela laughed hysterically. We were a couple of grizzled warriors scrapping like children on a cool summer day. So much for feeling old.

Farkas eventually wedged in and broke us up. Vilkas and I were already exhausted from the dragon fight. Our brawl spent all the stamina we had left.

"Are you done man?" Vilkas spat. "Got that out of your system?"

I wiped my mouth, panting. "Yeah… Yeah, I'm done…"

Falura must have been watching. She was over by the dragon's head, inspecting its teeth. I glanced at her and she turned away, shaking her head.

"You can't say he's not fitting in," Aela said. "Let's try to keep our heat focused on the hunt instead of each other, eh? We need to get back to Jorrvaskr."

Vilkas lingered, peering over at the dragon's dead body.

"I'm going to stay a while. Rest among these scales and bones," Vilkas said. "This creature honored us with its life. I want to honor it with my respect."

Farkas would stay too, if only for his brother. Aela nodded. "Go ahead, then. I'll see you back in Whiterun." She gave me a look that told me to follow. What luck! If those other two were staying, that meant she and I would get to travel alone together! Couldn't have dreamt a better way to write off the day! I grinned to myself, thinking libidinous thoughts.

Something bothered me, though. I saw Falura taking notes on the dragon. It was thanks to her that I got the chance to fight it in the first place. But there were still plenty more dragons out there, including the one that destroyed Helgen. What was I going to do about it?

I starred at the elf and thought of something Eorlund had said to me back at Jorrvaskr.

_Nobody rules anybody in the Companions._ _Every man is his own._

_You learn to live your own life…_

Aela stepped into my line of sight. "Are you staying too?"

"I think so," I said. "There's something I gotta do."

Falura must have heard our talk. She stood up and turned around to greet me. Seemed fidgety too, impatient to get back to her work.

"You wish to speak with me?" she said.

"Aye. Mind hearing me out?"

"Certainly not."

"You're studying dragons, yeah? That's good. Really, it is. We need people like you willing to help take up the fight." I folded my arms. "The way I see it, though, you're no good to the rest of us dead. Skyrim's a harsh place for outsiders."

Falura made an uncomfortable face. "Agreed. Are you proposing something?"

"I came here for dragon blood and dragon blood I got," I said. "But I'm thirsty for more. Where you're going there's gonna _be _more. See what I'm getting at?"

"This is… an offer of assistance?"

"Yup. You need a bodyguard. I'm volunteering again."

The woman was hesitant. "And you want absolutely nothing for your efforts?"

I shrugged. "I'll need to be _fed,_ but as long as that's covered… don't need a whole lot else. I live within my means."

There was something in the way she smiled after that. It was a look of relief, not just appreciation. I was a port in the storm again.

"Reinhardt, this is a remarkably generous offer," Falura said. "I would be a fool to refuse it."

I grinned. "Then it's a done deal. We work together."

Boots crunched in the snow. Aela walked over to us.

"This is what you want?" she said in a thoughtful voice.

"I'm not gonna ignore these dragons," I replied. "I want to go after them. This is a way for me to do that."

The huntress gave a look of content, lips curled in a smirk. "Then do it. You have every right. Just try to stay in one piece. We still need to figure out how to get that ring off of you."

Vilkas animated nearby. "Ring? What ring?" he asked, twisting his neck.

Aela rolled her eyes. "I'll explain later," she said, turning back to me. "If you're ever in Whiterun hold again, come to Jorvaskr. I'll do some digging in the meanwhile and try to have something for you."

"Thanks." I smiled coolly. "Be safe on your trip. Talos guard you."

I stayed with Falura long after Aela was gone. The two brothers left later too. Vilkas took a bag full of scales from the dragon's hide with him – wanted to see how much coin he could fetch. The Dark Elf woman continued her tests through the day. She plucked and stuffed little bits of the beast in her bag with a cheery air, like a florist picking through her garden. Don't get me wrong, I'm not judging. If she enjoys that kind of thing, that's between her and any other critters she's ever cut up.

It wasn't till sunset that Falura decided her work was done.

"I think I've gathered all that I can," she said, divorcing her quill from a stack of sketch notes. "Reinhardt? Are you ready to leave?"

I slid my butt off the dragon's snout and stretched my arms. "As ever. Where to?"

"Winterhold lies northeast of here. The college will have bed and board for us."

"You mean the mage's college?" I scratched my beard. "We're going _there_?"

"It will be better than camping in the glaciers. More to the point, we will need their resources to plot our next excursion."

Falura and I left to go back to our horses. They were tethered further down the mountain. We walked and talked.

"You got a plan for what's next?" I asked.

"Not at the moment, I'm afraid. There was mention of a dragon sighting near the hot springs south of Windhelm…" She shook her head and made a 'tch' sound. "Oh, but no… we can't keep killing each and every dragon. We have to figure out _why_ they're returning all of a sudden. There must be a reason behind it."

I'd been chewing over that too, ever since I saw what happened to Helgen. I had my doubts that all these dragons had just been invisible and really really quiet for the past few thousand years. Something or someone was bringing them back. There weren't any good hints or trails to follow...

Except maybe one thing.

The Argonian.

"Hold there. I have an idea," I said, grabbing the thought before it flew away.

"You do?" The elf woman sounded more suspicious than interested. "Speak, then."

"If we're gonna study dragons, we still have to find them. Best way to do that is to be where the action is."

Falura set a hand on her chin in a thinking pose.

"What do you mean by 'action?'"

"You heard the call of the Greybeards, right? That's the action I'm talking about."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"It's simple! A man killed a dragon in Whiterun and took its soul. Now he's been summoned by the Greybeards. That can only mean one thing, and the dragons won't ignore it. You don't think it's funny that this man just _happened _to show up in Skyrim right when dragons started coming back?"

"It does seem like convenient timing…"

"That's 'cause it's the gods' timing. There's a storm brewing, Falura, and if we want to get to the bottom of this dragon business, we need to find that man the Greybeards summoned."

Falura's brow rose. "You're suggesting…?"

I smirked. "We need to find the Dragonborn."

~ooooo~

As for _how_ we'd do that… well, that was the difficult part. For Falura. I didn't have a knack for academia, so all I could do was sit around in the college Arcanaeum like a bump on a log. Or get sent on errands. Not the best start to a grand dragon hunting adventure.

Ah, but that would soon change. One day I was sound asleep in my guest room. The mages at Winterhold love their lavish living quarters, with their green silk bedspreads, silver candelabras and the like. A bit overdone for my tastes, but I'd suffer a whole lot worse for those mattresses! Comfiest things I've laid on in my life!

Would've been the best sleep of my life, too, if I hadn't been rudely woken up.

"Reinhardt," Falura said, standing in the doorway. "Get up. I think I've found a promising lead. You'll want to see this."

Groggy and half-awake, I sat up and wiped the crust from my eyelids.

"Can this… wait until morning?" I yawned.

"It is morning," she replied. "Come, come, we haven't got all day."

_Morning? Ah troll's blood... I can never just take a nap…_

I put on a warm set of clothes and shoved into my boots, hoping on one foot. You have to walk out through the college courtyard to reach the Arcanaeum from the living quarters. If you aren't awake before the icy wind touches your skin, trust me – you will be.

Falura had a map scrawled on a large wood table inside. She pointed to a spot on the map next to an ink pot she'd left as a placeholder.

"What's this?" I asked.

"I've discovered something about the Greybeards that may help us track down the Dragonborn," she said.

I stroked my beard. "Do tell."

"As you know, the Greybeards summoned the Dragonborn to their monastery. This is not a new phenomenon. Many Dragonborn throughout history have answered the call of the Greybeards and received their training, including the illustrious Tiber Septim. This knowledge alone would give us a place to start our search. The Dragonborn must pass through the village of Ivarstead to reach High Hrothgar."

I hammered a fist in my palm. "Then that's where we're going!"

Falura shooed away my eagerness. "No, no, we're not going _there..._ It's been two weeks already since the summoning. By the time we reach Ivarstead, the Dragonborn will surely be long gone. Think about it. It could take months for us to catch up to him if we follow naught but bread crumbs. We need to be more predictive."

"Huh… Kinda like a game of Steel Hearts, eh? We got to think more than one step ahead."

"Precisely. Well said." She set a pair of open books in front of me. "I've referenced two texts that speak of a ritual the Greybeards initiate at the conclusion of the Dragonborn's training. It is a final rite, a test where the Dragonborn must travel across Skyrim to recover a token artifact."

"What kind of artifact?"

Falura set her eyes down on the table. "Unfortunately I don't know. The sources weren't specific. But I was able to come across a name linked to the artifact – _Ustengrav._ I followed this vine and discovered that Ustengrav is the burial crypt of a man named Jurgen Windcaller."

"Who?"

"The founder of the Greybeards. Jurgen Windcaller was the first practitioner of their creed, the Way of the Voice. Not a coincidence." Falura set a single sheet of paper on top of the books. It was worn and yellowed. "I have now found evidence that suggests Ustengrav is the location of the artifact the Dragonborn is sent to find. If the Greybeards are keeping with tradition, our Dragonborn may already be on his way there. We must go to Ustengrav and look for the artifact to find whether or not it's been taken."

I walked a few steps around the table. "Great, but… we don't know what it is. How will we know if the Dragonborn took it?"

"According to this, the artifact is laid with Jurgen Windcaller's burial coffin. That shouldn't be hard to miss."

A grin rose on my face. "Alright. I'm liking this plan. What do we do if we don't find the artifact?"

"We travel to the local villages in search of other leads, preferably witnesses."

"And if the artifact's still there, we'll just wait for the Dragonborn to show up! We might beat him to the punch."

"That would be less ideal, considering we won't know _if _he will show up. But it could work." She stood in her thinking pose again. "We will need to be cautious, for the crypt is full of dangers meant to test the Dragonborn's abilities."

"My, my… This sounds like quite a journey," a new voice spoke up. An old Dark Elf wearing fancy robes stepped into the room. He had a slender head and a long bushy beard.

"Savos. I wasn't expecting you," Falura said to him. "We're merely discussing our travel plans. We have a new lead into the dragon investigation."

"You've been very persistent with this study of yours, haven't you?" the man mused. "I'm impressed. If only our students were so diligent."

"Come now, a professor in a lecture hall is no substitute for a pursuit born of passion. Diligence comes from intrinsic motivation."

The wrinkly elf squinted his eyes at me.

"I don't recognize this man," he said. "A local?"

"This is Reinhardt, my companion," Falura replied. "He was instrumental in killing the frost dragon – oh, that's the name I've given it. Frost dragon. Fitting given its color and preference for frost magic, wouldn't you say?"

This was a conversation in some realm where I didn't exist. I didn't know who that old man was or why I oughta give a care about him.

"_Killing_?" He sounded nervous. "Falura, what have you done?"

"The white dragon is dead, Savos," she replied. "I was able to study it extensively. I have a better understanding of dragon physiology and will continue testing the samples in my possession. It is more than I could have hoped for. With luck I shall find a weakness we can exploit against their kind."

"Goodness, Falura, I never expected you to act so impetuously!"

"Dire times call for dire measures. This college is no safer than any other place in Skyrim. The city of Whiterun was attacked and another village has been destroyed. They're on the move, Savos. I, for one, refuse to dither."

"Yeah! How come none of you mage types are helping to stop the dragons?" I chided. "You got all this magic here to keep you safe, but what about the rest of Skyrim? Can't spare your precious time to help save common folk?"

The old elf didn't seem angry, but he _was_ ruffled. His lean and wrinkly face wrinkled even more. "I see you have found an assistant of like mind…"

Falura frowned at me. "You needn't be hostile, Reinhardt. This is the Arch-Mage of the college, Savos Aren. He has explained to me his reasons for not supporting my research." She gazed firmly at the old elf. "I disagree with his reasons, but he is allowed to have them regardless. We are privileged to be able to conduct our business at his college."

I crossed my arms. "Hmph. Whatever you say." The mages in Winterhold were full of themselves, every one of 'em. Why couldn't they share their magic with more people? Helgen might have fared better against the dragon if they'd had a few more wizards.

Most Nords don't like magic. A man murders another man with his fists and he's a criminal. But a man murders with a _spell_? Oh, he's a fiend they'll say – gave himself over to those vile arts. They'll tell you magic is for the weak of arm and that it only causes trouble.

You know what, though? I knew a Nord battlemage back in Cyrodiil. We ran together on some bounty hunts and he sure didn't seem weak to me. He was a fine warrior! I learned from him that a spell kills the same as a sword and that both depend on the skill of the wielder. We don't blame swords when things go wrong, so why should we blame magic? People use the tools they have.

Bah, but enough of that. Our chat with the Arch-Mage droned on. I was itching to get out of the college.

Ustengrav lay in the swamp deltas of Hjalmarch. We'd have to watch for border disputes along the way, but the coastal roads passing through Dawnstar would give us a swift route to the west. After Savos was gone, we plotted our course on the map and slept on our plans through the night.

The next day me and Falura saddled up and set off to the tomb of Jurgen Windcaller. It was the start of our search for the Dragonborn, Whiterun's savior. Vilkas spoke well of the man. I looked forward to meeting him. Had a good feeling our search would be easy too. He was no everyman, after all.

A red Argonian with scars on his cheek – how hard could _that_ be to find?


	42. Arc 2 - Chapter 18

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 18 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

I left Grosta to her mourning. She called for her son and took him inside their house. They had a good reason to postpone their woodworking, if only for a short while. Conveying the news of her husband's fate had reopened my guilt anew. I saw a glimmer of sunlight reflecting off the nearby river. The water rushed onward toward its final destination, unhindered, in spite of everything that sought to stop it. I knew I needed to be as water.

_A failure is only that if you learn nothing from it, _I reminded myself, quoting the words of a man I killed long ago._ Learn from this. Ensure that it never happens again._

_Never. Again._

Dar-Meena waited for me among the stumps of a cleared forest. The sun was high with thick clouds emerging beyond the skyline. I told her I needed to make this stop before we reached Ivarstead, that it was too important to neglect. I did not, however, tell her why.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"A woman who knows now of her widowhood," I replied.

I was almost surprised by the look she gave me. Then I remembered how smart she was. She put together the pieces quickly.

"You mean… the man back at Stonefalls? The one you were searching for...?"

"Yes."

"What did she offer you to find him?"

"It was I who offered."

"For what?"

"Nothing."

Dar-Meena leaned on a leg. Her piercing yellow gaze seemed to find new ways to corrode my defenses. It was becoming harder and harder to deny her information, and I refused to lie outright.

"You went to all those lengths to find a stranger's husband. Why?"

"Because I thought I could."

The young thief glanced over her shoulder at the family's log cabin, lips slightly parted, arms wrapped around her waist.

"Shit… She couldn't have taken it well. Did you explain what happened? Was she resentful?"

I let out a low hum. Dar-Meena narrowed her eyes.

"Chase…? What exactly did you tell her?" she asked.

The guilt reopened again.

"What she deserved to hear."

We had a river to follow. It was time to move on.

~ooooo~

The Throat of the World was enormous enough to swallow a city. It dwarfed the height of the White-Gold Tower by miles. Such a thing of impossible size only nature could construct. Standing at the base of the mountain, in the village of Ivarstead, I could not see its peak. It appeared to fade away and become one with the sky itself. The spired tons of snowy rock were dappled with pine trees at its lowest elevations. The upper crags by contrast bespoke a more barren and harsh landscape.

A whine reached my ears. "Is it too late to try and change your mind?" Dar-Meena asked.

"You are free to stay in the village and wait for me," I said. "I can make the journey alone."

"Augh, nevermind… Let's just get this over with." She had the look of one being forced against her will to complete an arduous chore, like housecleaning. I sighed.

_You are the sower of your own distress, Keerthelh…_

We purchased new garments from a local merchant, furred and layered to fend off the cold that awaited us. Though I should correct – _Dar-Meena _purchased the garments. All of the money Jarl Balgruuf had gifted me was officially hers as payment. I retained merely a handful of Septims. The tailor had demanded a steep price for the garbs, which the young thief indignantly contested. I was listening from a window outside the store.

Somehow Dar-Meena haggled the wares down to half price. I would have never thought it possible. I learned more about bargaining and fur trade from listening to her than I ever might have under the An-Xileel's tutelage, and they spared no expense covering many disciplines. Dar-Meena continued to defy my expectations.

Though the real trials were yet to come.

We were ready to confront the Seven Thousand Steps. Rushing rapids divided Ivarstead from the base of the mountain. Dar-Meena and I came to a stone bridge that crossed the torrential waters, where on which a pair of men were talking. One was a Nord leaning against the parapet and the other a Bosmer standing in the roadway. The Bosmer left, waving to the Nord and wishing him farewell. As the young thief and I arrived at the bridge, the Nord beheld us with interest.

"Well now… This is new," he said. "Never known any of your kind to make the pilgrimage before." The Nord wore a set of winter clothing similar to ours. He had a shaved head and a thick brown beard hanging off his chin.

"That shouldn't come as a surprise," Dar-Meena remarked dully.

I held in a slew of unpleasant emotions. Necessity dictated that we keep our trail as concealed as possible, yet a simple fact made this task problematic: Dar-Meena and I were Argonians. The rarity of our kind in the north was working against us. We were oddities to the Nords, more likely to be remembered. The best we could do was act in an unsuspicious manner and make minimum contact with locals. But even then…

My thoughts drifted to the Dark Brotherhood assassins. The ones that should not have existed.

_The only way they could have found me in Riften was if they had been searching _before_ the events at Whiterun. Which means a black sacrament was performed within my first days in Skyrim at the latest… by someone who knew I was here. _

_But no one should_ _have known I was here. No one followed me. My identity as Dragonborn had not been revealed… and none in this province should know of Okan-Zeeus. I have no enemies in Skyrim, no acquaintances…_

Those assassins were a truth amidst a dozen impossibilities.

_How did it happen? This shouldn't be! There is no explanation! _

"Chase! Are you even paying attention?" Dar-Meena snapped at me.

I broke out of my thoughts. The Nord at the bridge had been talking to us. I missed the entire conversation, to my embarrassment.

"I'm… sorry," I said, still distracted. "What were we talking about?"

Dar-Meena rolled her eyes. "He gets like this a lot," she grumbled.

"I wanted to ask a favor," the Nord said, looking at me, "since you're both heading up on your way to the monastery."

I brought myself back to focus. I could not remain in the world of feints and shadows. The real world was calling.

"A favor? Of what sort?" I asked.

"I was about to make a delivery. The Greybeards are expecting some supplies."

"What kind of supplies?" Dar-Meena interjected.

"Mostly foods like dried fish and salted meats. You know, things that keep fresh for a long time. The Greybeards tend not to get out much, if you catch my meaning."

"And what do you get out of all this?"

The Nord shrugged. "Well, it's kind of an understanding between us… I mean, it wouldn't feel right to charge them for a bit of preserved food." He sighed. "Trouble is, my legs aren't what they used to be and climbing the Seven Thousand Steps takes its toll."

_I see. The Greybeards must live solely off of charity offerings from this village, _I thought. _They could never grow food or provide for themselves up on a mountain._

"We're not free labor. What's the compensation?" Dar-Meena asked. I frowned at her.

aside for you when you come back."

"How much?"

"Oh, I wouldn't expect you to do this for free," the man said. "I'll have some gold set

The Nord's features knotted. He was dealing with a hard businesswoman. I felt sympathy for him.

"How about three hundred?"

Dar-Meena beamed. She was prepared to bargain with the man, but his first offer was already higher than she anticipated.

"In that case, Chase would be more than willing," she replied, grinning at me. "Wouldn't you?"

I would have been willing at _any_ rate. That did not stop me from shooting Dar-Meena a mild glare. "I can speak for myself," I muttered to her, addressing the man more warmly. "But yes. I will gladly make this delivery for you."

"Much appreciated," he said, handing me a large leather knapsack. "Take this bag. At the top of the steps you'll see an offering chest. Just leave the bag inside, and you're done."

My tail stiffened as I slung his bag over shoulder beside my own. It was heavier than it first appeared. I could see the bottom of the Seven Thousand Steps across the bridge ahead of us. The climb up to High Hrothgar was quickly losing any semblance of appeal. Pulling a skidder full of trees was one thing… now this?

I resigned nonetheless with a deliberate smile. Sacrifice is part and parcel when it comes to helping others. I accept this fact willingly.

The Nord's name was Klimmek. He cautioned us to be on guard for wolf packs or strays while climbing the Throat of the World, as well as to watch our footing along the icy slopes. Beyond that there were no dangers to anticipate. The distant clouds concerned me, but they did not appear to be moving in toward the mountain.

With a final send off, we began climbing the stone steps. They were weathered and uneven along the side of the mountain, coiling up steep slopes where the wind blew strong. Ivarstead slowly shrank beneath us. I grunted under the weight of two bags on my back and saw the young thief in the corner of my eye, still grinning at me as we hiked.

"You are enjoying this," I hissed.

"Only a little," she chirped sweetly. "Just think: this way you'll be able to pay me back for those clothes I bought you."

I stumbled. "Xhuth, what!? You said nothing about paying you–!"

Dar-Meena snickered. My brow drew low.

"You are joking."

"I'm joking."

I forced a sharp breath out of my lungs, taking a long stride up multiple steps.

"Was this a part of your vision for our partnership? Unceasing bouts of mockery?"

"Don't act like you don't love it."

~ooooo~

Our climb persisted unto the evening. My ears felt plugged and the air was thin to respire. The sky was growing dark. I had been wrong about the clouds. They were nearly upon us, bringing with them a violent snowstorm. We needed to reach High Hrothgar quickly, lest the weather catch us and send our spirits to the Hist.

"Dar-Meena, we cannot rest any longer," I urged, breathing heavily.

She was sitting down next to a stone monument beside the path. Rocks loomed to our right. Strong gales blew snow over our heads, flakes fluttering in areal loops.

"I'm an idiot… I should've taken your offer… stayed at the village," she huffed, rising to her feet. Dar-Meena was not as physically fit as I, accustomed more to walking city roads than hiking mountain crests.

"We must be getting close. Come on. I won't let you fall behind," I said.

The steps continued to curve in an upward bend. I led the way, staying as close to the inner mountain as possible. My arms and legs ached fiercely. The climb was becoming a serious test of endurance, akin to those I suffered as a hatchling. I would have taken the bogs of Archon if given a choice between them and the mountain, and that is no small admission. _Be thankful,_ I thought._ Here, at least, no swamp leviathans can chase you._ If there was ever a memory I wished to suppress…

I slipped on a patch of ice and caught myself against the side of the mountain. Klimmek's bag pulled me down into the snow. It was too much extra weight.

Dar-Meena rushed up to me. "Are you okay!?"

I laughed, partly at my own clumsiness, partly at the chaos of the coming blizzard.

"Still alive," I huffed. "For what that is worth."

I rose, hauling up the delivery bag.

"Just leave it! We don't owe that Nord anything," Dar-Meena barked.

"The Greybeards still need this," I panted. "Are they not the ones who will be taking us in in this storm?"

"Chase, you're getting tired!"

"A slight setback. Easily ignored."

She bit her lip and grabbed the bag's other strap. We held it together between us.

"You ignore it all you want to," she said. "I won't."

Our eyes met. There was a surprising intensity about Dar-Meena in that moment. I yielded to her. Minutes passed by. Higher we ascended. Yet the end did not seem to come.

The snowstorm suddenly blustered with all its might. Visibility was reduced to two yards. We could barely see the steps before us. I raised my hand up in a feeble attempt to block the wind. It was all-consuming to the senses, a constant press against my body, a wall of noise against my ears. Our hike became a slow plod. The arctic cold was numbingly painful, sapping away heat and strength.

"What now!?" Dar-Meena cried above the storm.

"Don't let go! Mirror my steps!" I called back.

We used Klimmek's bag as a line connecting the two of us, ensuring we would not get separated. I followed what was left of the path ahead as I had drawn in my memory, before the blizzard concealed it, until we reached another curve. The remaining way forward lay shrouded by the flurry of snow. With the sun setting and withdrawing its light, the Throat of the World became a closing set of icy jaws, from which soon nothing could escape.

I allowed my eyelids to close. Darkness came.

"Laas!"

My eyes snapped open as the Thu'um encompassed my vision with a hazy red tint. I could see four glowing vaporous figures. They were bright scarlet lights shining through the dark grey of the storm. Though the auras gave no heat, seeing them seemed to stave off the cold.

"I sense life ahead!" I shouted. "The monastery is up the path! We're nearly there!"

One last push. Dar-Meena and I trudged on through the deep snow. A stone tower faded into view, followed by a larger building connected behind it. Steps wound their way to a set of large heavy metal doors. With great effort we pushed through into High Hrothgar. The brassy door scrapped against the ground as I opened it; then again as I drove it back into place. The howl of the wind shrilled higher and higher, until the door was shut and only a muffle remained.

Klimmek's bag fell on the floor with a thud. No one would mind if we left it there for a while. It felt too good to be out of the storm. The scales on my snout could finally thaw. Dar-Meena and I rested against a wall, our winter garbs damp and heavy. We held on to each other, sharing warmth.

"I've made up my mind," she shivered. "I don't like hiking. I will never like hiking."

I chuckled. "You do not like hiking in _blizzards_. I promise there's a difference."

"I don't care if there's a difference!"

My gaze went ahead into the chamber. I grew silent. A large pit of flames crackled near the back of the stone brick monastery. Bright banners hung from the ceiling, bearing words written in the language of the Thu'um, as I had seen in Bleak Falls Barrow and the mining camp. Candles burned along a praying alter. A soft orange glow blanketed the room, casting dark shadows on elaborate wall carvings.

In an open center space stood four men. Their thick grey robes trailed down to their feet, sleeves draping over their hands. Their faces could be seen underneath their hoods, each wearing long full beards. They did not approach us. Instead they stood there, waiting patiently.

"Those sure look like Greybeards," Dar-Meena whispered.

I pulled away from her. "Wait here. I will speak to them," I said quietly, taking my first steps forward. My wet boot clops echoed, leaving prints and puddles of water on the floor.

_This place… It feels calming… tranquil… _

One of the Greybeards stepped up to greet me.

"So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age." The man spoke with calm tone and graceful rhythm, implying wisdom that could only come with age. "Your fortitude is commendable. Few would dare to climb our mountain in such a storm… and fewer still could survive."

I came to a stop, leaving a gap between me and the holy man. His cheeks were gaunt and his beard was tied at the bottom in a knot.

"You call me Dragonborn," I said, side-eyeing the Greybeard. "What does that mean?"

He brought his arms together in the sleeves of his robe. The other Greybeards gathered behind him.

"First, let us see if you truly _are_ Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice."

My wet boots squeaked. "Pardon?"

"Shout at us. Do not be afraid. Your Thu'um will do no harm."

I looked back at Dar-Meena. She sat down on the floor in a heap of warm furs and shrugged at me. With hesitance, I complied with the Greybeard's request.

"FUS!"

My ring of force collided with the men. It fluttered their robes, yet they did not flinch. The Greybeards stood unmoved like columns of stone. I stared with a small feeling of awe. The man with the knot beard smiled. I could see the aged bags that hung beneath his eyes.

"Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome," he said, bowing. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. You stand in High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth's sacred mountain. Now tell me, Dragonborn… why have you come here?"

I stiffened, pondering his question perhaps longer than I needed to.

"Hakkuut… I answer your summons," I finally said.

"Hakut?" he pronounced incorrectly.

"_Teacher,_" I translated. "This one would speak it in his native tongue, to denote respect."

Arngeir's smile returned. "We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift, in fulfillment of your destiny."

I glared. "Do you _know_ my destiny?"

He brought his arms together. "It is for you to discover. We can show you the Way, but not your destination. Do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out before you? That remains to be seen."

"I will do as I must," I said. "I wish to discover what it means to be Dragonborn."

"And we are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood who came before you."

"Am I not the only one?"

"You are not the first. There have been many since Akatosh first bestowed the gift upon mortal kind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age… that is not ours to know." He walked to the other Greybeards. I followed.

"Xhu. The hour grows late, but… when will the training begin?"

"Whenever you are ready, Dragonborn."

I checked back to see Dar-Meena dozing off. Despite my exhaustion, I felt awake and alert. The longer it took me to complete my training, the more harm dragons could do in my absence. This was not a time for rest or idleness.

"I am ready now," I said determinedly.

~ooooo~

Arngeir and I walked down a long hallway to return to the open chamber. I left behind some of my clothes to dry back in another room. Dar-Meena stayed as well to sleep. She thought it was senseless of me to try and train after the ordeal we had just survived, but I assured her I was willing. And able.

"Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your voice into a Thu'um," Arngeir explained. "When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power."

"These words… they are unique somehow, yes?" I said. "How is it that they manifest as magic?"

"The magic is intrinsic to the language itself, just as the language is to dragons. There is no difference in the dragon tongue between debating and fighting. Shouting comes as naturally to a dragon as breathing, or speaking. It was the goddess Kynareth that granted mortalkind the ability to speak as dragons do."

We arrived in the chamber, where the other Greybeards rejoined us.

"Can anyone learn to Shout, then?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes. For most people, long years of training are required to master even the simplest Shout. But for you... the dragon speech is in your blood, and you learn it almost without effort."

"Then I learn effortlessly what you have all have spent your lives pursuing. This thought instills no joy," I spoke glumly, eyes resting upon the other Greybeards. I tilted my head. "Do none of you have words to say?"

"The others do not speak," Arngeir said. "Their Voices are too powerful. Even a whisper could kill you."

I shuddered. These peaceful men were not to be provoked. Arngeir turned and nodded to one of the other Greybeards.

"Master Einarth?"

The thick bearded elder stepped forward and breathed quietly upon the ground.

"_Ro…_"

I felt a shake under my feet. A word suddenly pressed into the stone floor like a footprint. I reeled back at the sight.

"All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power," Arngeir lectured. "As you master each word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. The word you see before you is _ro._ Ro means 'balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with fus – 'force' – to strengthen your Thu'um."

He gestured to the floor with his hand. I was to approach the word. It pulsed with rhythm and began to glow as I knelt down, my vision blackening. The word imprinted. I felt it within me.

_Ro. _Another meaningless husk.

"You learn a new word like a master…!" Arngeir sounded reverent. "You truly do have the gift."

I stood as my vision returned, wearing a cynical frown. "But learning a word is not enough. Is it?"

"Correct. You must next unlock its meaning."

"By… killing a dragon?"

"Or through meditation and practice. But of course, as Dragonborn you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly." Arngeir turned to Einarth. "As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of ro."

Before I could question the sense of that, a rush of light like wind surged into me. I stared wide-eyed at Einarth as the knowledge of the word simply came unto me, as though he himself were a slayed dragon. Yet no visions or memories accompanied the knowledge. Perhaps those were tied to a dragon's life force… or, in other words, the dragon's soul.

The transfer completed. I turned to Arngeir.

"How…?"

His silence was my answer. It seemed there were secrets the Greybeards meant to keep. There was a diamond square of tiles on the floor. The four men repositioned, each standing upon an angle. I stood facing the diamond's center.

"Now, let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um," Arngeir said. "Strike the targets as they appear."

"Targets?" I repeated.

One of the Greybeards stepped into the diamond and Shouted.

"FIIK… LO SAH!"

He stepped back. There was a warp in the air. A doppelganger manifested in the center of the diamond. It bore the guise of the Greybeard who summoned it. His Thu'um had produced a decoy, an illusion of light.

_What the Iyorth!? How different do these Shouts become?_

I calmed my nerves and breathed in. The first word of my Shout welled up inside me, ready to burst. But the second word was right on its heel, even more vigorous. The word felt like a charging beast that needed to be caged. I blocked 'ro' before it could escape.

"FUS!"

The Shout burst from my mouth and pushed the doppelganer, causing it to stumble and fade away with a wisp of dim light. Beginner's error. I scorned myself for showing incompetence.

"Your Thu'um contains tremendous power," Arngeir said sternly to me, "but you must not hesitate. Try it again."

_Hold yourself together._

Another target was set by another Greybeard. I attempted to well my Shout again, but found that I couldn't. Something was stopping me from performing multiple Shouts in rapid succession. The only way I can describe it is to compare it to a feeling of breathlessness. A shout relies on a breath of the soul as well as the body, a parallel to magicka.

I waited for my Voice to return. The second time I did not hesitate.

"FUS… RO!"

The ring of force was bolstered in strength. It struck not only the doppelganger, but also the stairwell behind it and a few clay pots set on the outer edges. Some rolled and fell over. They would have shattered if I had Shouted closer to them.

"Well done. Again."

I inhaled and spoke the words with more confidence.

"FUS… RO!"

My blast hit the next decoy and the stairwell, but not pottery. It had shrunken in size.

_What…? Did I change it?_

"You learn quickly. Once more."

_…Strange… I must see…_

I Shouted again, trying a different vocal inflection, more clipped and staccato.

"FUS… RO!"

The Thu'um was even narrower. It struck only the doppelganger. I felt a thrill of discovery.

_Shouts can be altered by changing the way they are spoken!_ I could expand the blast to sweep a wide cone, or shrink it to strike a single target with greater force. It fit perfectly with what I witnessed of the dragons, the way they could condense their fire breath or exhale it in streams depending on the need. There were more ways to control the magic.

"Impressive. Your Thu'um is precise," Arngeir said with a knowing smile. "You show great promise, Dragonborn."

"Time will tell if I live up to that promise," I replied, not inclined to congratulate myself. A new skill is useless until it has been used apart from practice.

I heard soft footsteps and turned around. Dar-Meena leaned against the entrance of the hallway behind me. Her eyes were heavy.

"Restless?" I asked.

"You try sleeping while somebody's shouting the walls down," she muttered

"Oh…" I meekly lowered my gaze to the floor. "I apologize. I didn't think of that…"

Arngeir came up to me. "Dragonborn," he said. "We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri."

I sifted his words.

"The courtyard? Outside? But… there is a blizzard…!"

The Greybeard named Borri walked up a small flight of stairs to the courtyard exit. The others trailed behind. Dar-Meena and I exchanged worried looks. I joined the men as they climbed the steps and approached the large metal doors.

"Wait! I said there is a blizzard outside! We mustn't–"

The doorway swung open and a loud moaning gale rushed into the monastery. There was a black curtain of vicious snowfall where the courtyard supposedly laid. I squinted as the wind blew in my eyes and snarled as it touched my scales.

"Waxuuthi, xhuth!" I swore. "This is madness!"

Borri walked straight and disappeared into the storm.

"LOK… VAH KOOR!"

The air distorted, a Thu'um visibly ringing out. The blizzard stopped. Storm clouds dispersed. In an instant the outdoors were clear and calm without a hint of snowfall. A vibrant cyan aurora was shining in the sky, no longer hidden behind the weather's dark veil. I slowly stepped into the mild chill of High Hrothgar's courtyard, transfixed on the brilliance of the stars, utterly dumbfounded.

It was quiet. So quiet…

"I… never realized…"

"You have much to learn, Dragonborn," Arngeir said, standing beside me.

The Greybeards. I finally understood why the Nords of Skyrim revered them. They were men of power without reckoning. Even the skies themselves obeyed their command.

_These men summoned me, sought to train me in their arts... And I rejected their call…_

I beheld that night the true measure of my folly.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_It goes without saying, but I'm expanding DOTE's lore in this chapter. Allow me to explain:_

_ The major change is to the Thu'um. The idea that Shouts can be altered by changing the way they are spoken seemed like fun to me. It adds an extra element of depth of the system and gives me more interesting scenarios to work with. I want to expand Chase's Shouting abilities in a way that will ultimately enable him to perform incredible feats, even more incredible than those seen in the game._

_ My goal is to maintain the feel of Shouting as it is in Skyrim, while pushing the boundaries of what it can do. I'm straying farther and farther from TES lore, but I promise it's all in the interest of the story._


	43. Arc 2 - Chapter 19

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 19 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Tirdas, 9th of Hearthfire 4E 201_

Ustengrav sat in Skyrim's version of a swamp. It wore the familiar pine trees of Skyrim's forests mixed with murky water and burgeoning fungal pods. A light mist hovered above the cool wetlands. It was a perfect environment for crustaceans, namely mudcrabs, and all manner of unflattering creatures.

Reinhardt planted a boot on the head of a frostbite spider and pulled his sword from its abdomen, casually continuing our conversation.

"Now… what part was I at again?" he asked.

I approached him tentatively. "You mentioned something about a wheel of cheese…"

"Ah, that's right! So my friend left the rest of his cheese wheel out in the woods. A noise woke us up in the night and we went to go take a look-see. His _face _when he saw that black bear! Ha! Ran back to the village like a headless chicken, screaming for help! Gunnar had us eating bear meat for days."

The Nord was retelling a tale from his youth. I don't remember how we arrived at the particular topic. What I do recall were the spiders that appeared suddenly from the swamp as we neared Ustengrav and Reinhardt saying, "This'll just take a second."

"Was… Gunnar the one who lost his arm?" I asked in dismay.

"What? No, that was Fjorn. Completely different story."

Reinhardt started cleaning his blade with a cloth. He was quite handy with a sword, but his… _sensibilities_ were most definitely the product of his culture. Given my unfamiliarity with the Nords of Skyrim, I admit that any exposure to their culture had its value. The more I learned about these people, the better I could mingle amongst them.

What I had to ask myself was whether or not I actually wanted to.

My companion smiled proudly at the clutch of dead spiders around him. I redirected his attention to the burial mound that appeared to be Ustengrav. It was a ring of stonework bulging up from the ground like an ant hill. We came to its upper lip and found a depression within, stairs leading down to a rotting wood door with iron reinforcement. It was hanging open on a single hinge.

"This crypt has remained here since the first era," I said. "This is rare opportunity for us, to glimpse an image of the past. Ancient Skyrim."

Reinhardt cautiously walked down the crumbling stone steps. "I'm having second thoughts about this…"

I balked at him jokingly. "Reinhardt, I'm shocked. Is this fear I'm hearing?"

The Nord grunted. "Fear? Not a chance. It's just that… I was always taught to leave the dead in peace. Now we're just gonna rummage through some old man's tomb?"

"The Dragonborn might have already had the honor. Do remember why we're here."

"Oh, I know why we're here." Reinhardt pushed aside the rotting door to the dark catacombs. "Got to find out if our dragon killing lizard's been in this neck of the north…"

I stepped into the musty tunnel behind him, striking the ground with my staff. A flame appeared on its crystal head, illuminating the path. The tube-like corridor of stone was covered in a grimy film. Tree vines crept down along the walls. We commenced our descent.

"Please abstain from using that term until we know for certain it's correct," I said stiffly. _Lizard_. Reinhardt had clearly been convinced by the accounts of the Dragonborn in Whiterun.

"Are you still on about that?" The Nord groaned. "Ysmir's beard… I heard Vilkas say it himself. Aela saw him too! The Dragonborn's an _Argonian._"

"That is what the evidence seems to suggest. But I shall not be convinced until I see it."

"Lots of people saw it. They can't all be liars."

"Lies are beside the point. I'm a scientist. I consider it my duty to question the nature of all things. Every Dragonborn in recorded history has been human. It is a clear, established pattern. To propose a deviation requires substantial proof."

"Proof? What, my word not good enough for you?"

I stopped and looked at my companion sternly, but with a smile.

"Reinhardt, your word has as much weight as anyone else's. This has nothing to do with you or the other Companions. I'm simply being the stubborn crone that I am. You're not going to change that, so let's return to the matter at hand."

The burly Nord grinned back. "You're the boss."

I did not care what the Nords of Whiterun thought they had seen. I had to know for myself _with certainty_ the Dragonborn's racial identity. If he was indeed Argonian, that raised a very grave concern. I knew a great deal about their kind – more than most Dunmer.

We entered a large ruined chamber rife with rock slides and broken pillars. The glow from my staff barely reached the ceiling. A pattering of tiny feet and crumbling dust came from whatever occupants still dwelled in the catacombs. I saw light coming from an entryway ahead. A small fire was burning.

"Someone's been here recently," I said. "A fire wouldn't–"

"Shhh! I hear something," Reinhardt hissed.

I sealed my lips. A high-pitched, throaty burble echoed from the inner hall. Reinhardt drew his sword as he stepped first into the firelight. Something touched his ankle. He yelped and swiped his blade at the large creature on the ground. Pale blue blood stained the floor. It was another frostbite spider.

"Trolls blood!" Reinhardt exclaimed softly, lowering his voice as he looked around the room. "Falura… you're not gonna like this. Remember those spiders back in swamp?"

I walked slowly into the room, filled with a blurry haze of smoke. Glistening spider silk covered the walls. Sacks of small creatures wrapped in cocoons hung everywhere. There was one lying on the ground with a noticeably human shape.

"Think we might've found where they came from," the Nord said sourly.

I did not speak, drawing closer to the human shaped cocoon. Reinhardt joined me and nodded as I requested that he open the sack. A human female laid inside, jaw slack, features paled and emaciated to the point of losing recognition. It wasn't the Dragonborn, at least. We separated and searched the room individually for a time.

"Spiders don't know how to light fires, do they?" my companion asked sarcastically, eyeing a burning pot of coals.

"Reinhardt, look over here," I said. "_These_ spiders are already dead."

The Nord came over and raised his brow. "Oh-ho. Those are clean cuts from a blade. Blood's fresh too… These fellows haven't been dead long." He looked at me optimistically. "You think maybe the Dragonborn…?"

"It is a promising lead," I admitted. "Let's follow it."

Further onward we went. The webs of silk became progressively thicker, encasing clutches of eggs the size of melons. The entire crypt had become a nest for frostbite spiders. I used my staff to clear the webs that stood in our way while consciously leaving the eggs alone. We passed rooms filled with large clay urns, many of which were smashed and looted. As we approached a door I saw a glimmer in one of the broken urns and stopped to take a look.

What luck! A small trove of soul gems were nestled inside the broken bowl. They weren't filled but that did not displace their value. Sad that I hadn't the means to cast soul trappings; Reinhardt would have been perfect for that. I made a mental note to enchant his sword at the earliest opportunity. It was just a matter of finding a pentagram I could use. Having the Nord serve as a soul harvester would make him twice as useful.

"Hey!" Reinhardt exclaimed, seeing me pack the soul gems into my bag. "Come on Falura, no grave robbing! You can't just go and take those!"

"It would be a waste to let these gems sit here collecting dust."

"Someone left them here for a reason. Don't you elves honor your dead?"

"By burying them with their possessions? Most certainly. That doesn't mean I don't find the practice pointless."

"The dead were alive once. They had wishes," he grumbled.

"Precisely. Burials are for the _living_, not the dead," I replied.

Reinhardt swatted at the air. "Ah, alright… Take 'em. I'm not gonna fight you over this."

I smiled. "It's for a good cause, Reinhardt."

We entered a tall passageway. A bridge crossed overhead, connecting tunnels in the upper rock. There was a bizarre verticality to the crypt's recesses. Several stone sarcophagi stood upright through the hall. Their lids had been opened, though nothing rested inside them. I counted six spiders of varying size. The flame of my staff disclosed our presence. They shambled toward us along the walls and ceiling. It was unnerving the way their pattering steps were almost silent.

"More of them," Reinhardt growled, gripping his sword. "Guess the Dragonborn missed a few. Watch my back, Falura."

"Settle down," I said, holding an arm up in front of him. "I have a better solution."

I pulled a scroll from my tote bag. With an open palm pointed at the ground, I channeled the scroll's magic and a deep purple vortex began to whorl in my hand. The spell cast on the floor with a brassy ring as it ripped through the fabric of Nirn.

A dark portal appeared, summoning a creature from Oblivion, then resealed itself. In its place was a floating pile of rocks in the shape of a torso and head. Smaller stones orbited around it, some forming hand-like appendages. Electrified clouds cloaked the creature in a pulsing blue glow.

It was a storm atronach, an embodiment of destruction magic.

The spiders advanced to no avail. Bolts of powerful lightning shot from the creature's hands and hurled them across the room. There were soon none left to stand against it. The atronach hovered back to me, its summoner, and resumed its vigil by my side. It felt delightful to be in the safety of a conjured guardian. My adoptive father always kept a daedra bound to our estate for protection. It was a fire atronach in the years before I left to join the Telvanni. Before that it was a Clanfear, a shield-faced raptor-like creature. I have memories of my brother and I playing with it.

"Our new friend will not be with us very long," I spoke to Reinhard in a formal tone, "but he will ensure a much safer journey through Ustengrav. Come, let's not be rude. We mustn't waste his time."

The Nord sheathed his sword with disappointment.

"Think your friend could, uh… save a few for me…?"

We three descended deeper into the bowels of the crypt. The endeavor itself was relatively uneventful. My storm atronach dispatched the many spiders we encountered along the way. The Nordic crypt eventually opened into a vast chasm. We crossed a bridge that led to a corridor and came upon something quite unforeseen.

A puzzle.

"Oh, this won't do at all," I sighed, watching the iron gates at the corridor's far end. They banged down heavily on the stone floor. The mechanism holding them up had released.

Reinhardt lifted his foot off of a pressure plate. There were five plates built into the ground in an alternating pattern, like left and right footsteps, leading toward a narrow tunnel filled with a series of five gates. Each gate lifted by stepping on the plates in mirrored order. The plate farthest back opened the gate farthest away and vice versa.

However, there were timers in place. Each gate would drop after a few seconds. If you failed to get through the gates fast enough, you'd find yourself trapped in between with no way to open them again. Skeletal remains lying in the tunnel conveyed a clear warning.

To make matters worse, there was at least a ten foot gap between the last plate and the first gate, lengthening the time it took to even reach the tunnel. Running through all five gates before their timers ran out was physically impossible.

If I had to hazard a guess, the puzzle was meant to be solved by a Dragonborn. Perhaps he would possess some ability, taught by the Greybeards, that allowed him to pass under the gates before they dropped. As elaborate as the puzzle appeared, though, it was exploitable. Two people could work in tandem to solve it: one pushing the pressure plates and the other advancing through the gates. But this presented a problem.

"You know what this means, right?" the Nord asked.

"Mm… One of us will have to continue on alone," I said.

Reinhardt snapped his fingers. "Wait, what about your floating rock man? Couldn't he push the–"

His timing could not have been better. As he spoke, the storm atronach fizzled out of existence. The magic that kept him in Mundus was spent.

"Sadly no," I replied. "Not anymore."

My companion swore an obscenity. A decision had to be made. Which one of us would continue onward through Ustengrav's depths? Without knowing what was ahead or who would be best equipped…

"Coin flip?" Reinhardt suggested.

"Must we?"

"It's only fair."

"Very well…"

The Nord pulled a coin from his pocket.

"Tiber I win, dragon you lose."

"Reinhardt, please! Don't be a child."

He chuckled. "Call it."

I sighed. "_Tiber._"

He tossed the coin up with a flick of his thumb, caught it and flipped it over on the back of his gauntlet.

"Dragon," he said with a grin. "Wish me luck."

I set myself near the pressure plates while Reinhardt assumed his starting position. I wasn't going to have him _run_ through the gates, goodness no. I opened them in order one at a time, letting Reinhardt pass through each slowly but safely.

Once he was on the other side, I walked up to the gates. The light of Reinhardt's torch shined through the tunnel.

"Is there a way to open the gates from your end?" I called to him.

"I don't see anything," he said.

_Curse it. That was too much to hope for… There must be another exit further within._

"Remember Reinhardt, you're looking for Windcaller's coffin! Try to find where the artifact is kept. And don't forget to record what you see! There might be other clues!"

"Loud and clear, Falura," he replied with a wave. The Nord disappeared down the tunnel. I held my staff close to my chest. Reinhardt was a capable warrior, but I couldn't help but fear for his safety. I turned around and went back the way we came to wait outside. It was up to him now to find what we needed.

I could not, however, have predicted what he would end up actually finding. Reinhardt returned to me on the surface later that day.

He did not return alone.


	44. Arc 2 - Chapter 20

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 20 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

I smelled water ahead. Heard it dripping and sloshing too. Not good. Thought maybe the tunnels ahead might've flooded. Never was much of a swimmer…

'Course I was getting worried over nothing. The water I smelled came from basins. As I slowly crept into a tall rock chamber, my torchlight reflected in the pools. They lined sides of a thin walkway headed down the room, toward an altar with a coffin on top. Huge dark statues half the size of mammoths sat in the water. They looked like bird heads with big angry eyes and pincer-shaped mouths squawking up at the ceiling.

The room was pitch black except for two torches: mine and another by the coffin. I saw the person holding it. Had tight rawhide clothes and a cloak drawn over. Thin sword at the waist, crossbow on her back. She was holding something in her hand.

I took a step onto the walkway. It echoed. She spun around and I froze.

We stood like statues, staring at each other's distance figures. The woman didn't draw her weapon, so I didn't either. I took another step forward, then another. Pretty soon I was walking past the basins and up to the altar where the woman waited for me.

I saw the object she was holding. A horn, curved and black.

"That's close enough," she said as she withdrew the horn and reached for her sword.

"Thought I was alone down here," I replied, stopping. "Am I interrupting something?"

"If you were interrupting me, I'd have already left you dying on this floor. Now you're going to tell me who you are and why I shouldn't."

Friendly, eh? She made me think of Angi.

_Is it my scent? Why do so many women want to kill me on sight…?_

"Name's Reinhardt," I sneered. "Pleasure's all mine."

"There's nothing pleasurable about this. You shouldn't be here."

"Don't take this the wrong way… I'm sensing some hostility."  
"Figure that out all by yourself?"

"I got no problem with you, lady. Already cleaned my sword once today."

"You're still breathing because I want you to, so stop wasting your breath and tell me why you're here."

Her voice sounded on the verge of 'haughty old lady,' the kind that makes you cringe and expect a wrist slap. She calmly masked her condescension. There was something familiar about the woman, but I couldn't place it. Her face was too hidden beneath that hood of hers.

I didn't know what she was doing in Ustengrav, though a hunch told me it had something to do with that horn she tucked away. I took a peek at the coffin behind her. There was a stone arm carved on top with open fingers, as if the corpse had broken through the coffin's lid to hold something up in his hand.

That hand was empty.

"You have something I came here to find," I said.

"And that is…?"

I pointed behind her. "The horn you just took from old Jurgen back there."

The woman drew her single-edged sword from its sheath. Didn't recognize the style of the blade. It wasn't a scimitar…

"You get one answer. Tell me why you're here for the horn."

"Isn't it obvious? I was sent here to find it."

"By who?"

If she came to Ustengrav for the horn, the artifact, that could only mean one thing. I needed to spin a tale that would save my skin and keep us talking. So I took the first thought that sounded good and ran with it.

"Well, if you must know…" I folded my arms. "…the Greybeards."

There was a very long pause.

"And why did the Greybeards send you here?" The lady stepped closer.

"To… finish my training, of course!" I said, saving the act.

"The Greybeards send you here because they're _training_ you?"

"Can't say I really get it myself. I've been told it's a tradition."

"Tradition," the woman repeated, taking another stride. "I'll bet."

I took a step back. Shor's bones, she was terrifying! Dark shadows made her face look like something out of Hermeaus Mora's own nightmares.

"Aye," I said firmly. "The Greybeards have always trained Dragonborn this way."

That was the magic word. The woman scowled at me.

"You're not the Dragonborn."

"How do you know?"

"I know. Trust me. Whoever sent you here to fool me was a fool himself."

_She's not buying it…_

"Listen, I don't want to fight you!" I growled. "I'm telling you the _Greybeards_ sent me here. Believe me or not, but I know what I did! I killed a dragon!"

"Keep it up. You're just digging a deeper hole."

"I'll prove it," I said as I reached into my bag and pulled out a large dark object.

The woman stopped and stared at it.

"…What is that?"

"See for yourself." I tossed it to her feet. "Know what it is?"

She retracted her sword and picked up the object. Her mouth opened.

"This is… a _dragon horn_," she whispered.

I snuck a sinister smile. "Took it after I sliced my sword through the beast's neck. I'd have taken the rest of it with me, but my bag was too small."

There's a trick to good lies, I've been told – they always use truth. Like I said, I ran with the _best_ idea I thought of. The horn was my ace. Even if she didn't believe I was Dragonborn, that horn would give her a reason to doubt herself.

"You're here 'cause you're looking for me, eh? Am I right? I don't know why else you'd go through the trouble to steal some dusty old horn." I tried to sound earnest. "So tell me… why? Are you a friend?"

The lady paid no attention to me. Straight through one ear and right out the other. _She_ was the one asking the questions here.

"When did you kill this dragon?"

"A few weeks ago," I lied. "It was attacking Whiterun."

"Why did you kill it?"

"Why wouldn't I? I'd kill them all if I could."

"That isn't an answer."

"Then how about _'I lost my family to a dragon.'_ That work better for you?"

The woman gave me a long hard look.

"Can you really do it? Can you absorb a dragon's soul?" she asked.

"Greybeards wouldn't have summoned me if I couldn't," I said.

She paused. "Well… you'll forgive me if I don't assume that something's true just because the Greybeards say so. I came here and found the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn, too?"

"Ha! I bet you could make a convincing story."

"As convincing as yours?"

I smiled. My plan seemed to be working.

"So you believe me now?"

"Not on your life."

"…Huh?"

"I saw the bones of the dragon in Whiterun. Obviously you didn't, because you would have known its skull still had both of its horns."

"Oh…uh…"

"You weren't anywhere near the city when the dragon attacked, anyway. You were in Riverwood."

I startled. "W- What!? Hold up, how do you–"

The woman pulled back her hood, showing her blonde hair tied in a ponytail. I'd seen those blue-grey eyes before. No wonder she seemed so terrifying.

"You were at my inn that night," Delphine said. "Or did the ale make your forget?"

_The innkeeper from Riverwood…!_

I knew it! I knew she felt familiar! It all made sense!

…It didn't make any sense.

Delphine saw the look on my face. "Surprised? I guess I'm getting pretty good at my harmless innkeeper act."

"Then… if you're you… and you knew about me… then that means…" I squinted. "I was never going to convince you, was I?"

"You're also a terrible liar."

"Aye, that's fair…"

Damn me, but she'd already pounded the nails into my casket. I was trying to outwit someone who had me outwitted before I even entered the room. Bah! I hate mind games.

"Tell me who you really are. _Now,_" Delphine demanded.

I puffed up what was left of my pride. "Reinhardt. Newest member of the Companions. I didn't come here for you. I'm here as a bodyguard."

"You're with someone?"

"We split up so I could reach Jurgen's tomb. Her name is Falura. She's studying the dragons, trying to find ways to fight them. I'm here to make sure nothing happens to her."

"Why come to Ustengrav?"

"We're looking for the Dragonborn. Just like you."

She started glaring again. "You'd better have a damn good reason for that."

"Of course! To help him fight dragons," I said. That's the reason _I_ wanted to find him.

"I hope you're telling the truth, for your sake."

"And I'm getting tired of your tone, lady," I muttered. "What's with all the cloak and dagger?"

"I can't be too trusting. My enemies have spies everywhere," she said. "In fact I'm still not convinced you aren't one."

"Then why haven't you tried to kill me yet?"

"I should be asking you the same question. Know the saying 'keep your enemies close'? You just handed me a _dragon horn._ You're either a spy sent to kill me or you're someone who might be useful. I'm willing to take a risk on that."

"I'm useful? What's that supposed to mean?"

She drew her sword again.

"It means I'm not letting you go anywhere. You know too much. You're going to take me to your friend and we're all going to have a talk together. Got it?"

I could see it then. The way her gaze twitched, the way she sounded as she made her demands. Like someone afraid to lose control.

_Ysmir's beard! She's paranoid out of her mind!_

"What happens if I say no?"

"Then you'll miss out. I have information about the dragons you don't."

I clenched my fingers into fists.

"What'd you say…?"

"Follow me. I know a way out of here. We have a lot to discuss."

The woman turned around. She pulled a note from her clothing and left it in the hand on top of Windcaller's coffin, before walking toward a doorway up ahead. I stared at the slip of paper and reached out to touch it.

"Leave that," Delphine hissed at me. "It's not for you."

I flinched back and grumbled, trailing behind the mysterious innkeeper.

_Falura's in for a treat when she sees this…_

~ooooo~

The sun was setting as we climbed out of Ustengrav's mound. Fresh air never smelled so good. Birds of prey flying circles in the sky reminded me of food and how empty my stomach was. Falura was eating bread she'd brought from Winterhold, sitting on a hill overlooking the swamps. She abandoned the bread – two people emerged from the crypt! – and walked down to meet us.

"Reinhardt? What… What is this? Who have you…" She trailed away, gasping suddenly. "By Azura! I've seen you before, haven't I?"

"The world's feeling small today," Delphine remarked. "Farengar's laboratory. I remember. You're that visitor who poked in on us."

"Say, what's this? We all know each other?" I glanced at both women with a grin. "Ha! Suppose this means we can skip introductions."

"I'm afraid we've not been properly introduced," Falura said warily. "Who are you?"

"Her name's Delphine," I told her, retreating to her side. "I met her at an inn. Thought she was the innkeeper."

"I _am_ the innkeeper," Delphine chided, turning to my mage friend. "I already know your name, Falura. Your bodyguard is good at waggling his tongue."

The Dark Elf stared at me like a mother who just caught her child tossing a pot roast to a pack of wolves. I scratched the back of my head.

"You said you know something about the dragons," I spoke to Delphine. "Tell us."

"Hmm? Is this true?" Falura asked, sounding doubtful.

"You don't have a reason to trust me, I know," Delphine replied. "Don't worry. If you aren't my enemy, then I'm not yours. Your friend told me you two are studying the dragons. He even handed me a dragon horn…"

"Indeed, from the dragon we _killed_."

"Then it's true?"

"I have extensive field notes and sketches."

Delphine regarded us with interest.

"So you really slew a dragon, then," she said. "Up for finding another?"

Those were _our_ magic words.

"You know where we can find one?" I exclaimed.

"I know more than that," she said. "I've figured out where they're coming from."

Falura stepped in front of me. She came out like an avalanche.

"From where? What proof do you have? I must know this instant."

"Not here," Delphine said. "We need to get moving if we're going to catch the dragon. There's no time to waste."

"I think you owe us an explanation first."

"I'll explain what I want when I want to."

"What? How dare you!" Falura rebuked. "You are being needlessly impregnable. We have only just met and you insist we comply with your demands!"

The innkeeper frowned. "You would both be dead if I didn't like the look of either of you. I'm more than a little suspicious as to how you found me here. We're going to find this dragon together so I can keep an eye on you."

"Or so you can kill us anyway," I scoffed, "maybe throw us at this dragon."

Falura held her staff out ready. I crossed my arms. Delphine fighting me was one thing, but me and the mage together? She wouldn't stand a chance. _Let her try and take us, _I thought._ We'll see who's left standing._

"If you're being honest with me and you're really studying the dragons, we should all get something worthwhile out of this. You'll just have to trust me," Delphine said sternly. "Did you two come on foot or saddle?"

Falura walked up to the inn keeper. I could feel the sparks between them. My friend spoke softly.

"Listen to me – I know you and Farengar were working together. Our goals may be aligned. We _will_ come with you, but I shall not be towed along on false hope. You will tell us first everything you know. _Where_ are the dragons coming from?"

The look on Delphine's face gave me gooseflesh.

"Their graves," she said.

Falura grimaced. "I beg your pardon?"

"Dragons aren't just coming back. They're coming back to life."


	45. Arc 2 - Chapter 21

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 21 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

Chase's training went on for three full days. The Greybeards had plenty of things to teach him, apparently, but I knew he learned new Shouts instantly. Those 'three full days' were being filled with pointless crap. I think he purposefully stretched out the training by waxing philosophical with those old farts all day long.

I'll just come out and say it: I hated that monastery. There was nothing to do. The Greybeards wouldn't even let me watch Chase train with them. Can you believe that? Like I was going to steal the Greybeard's most precious secrets and divulge them to the world. The beds were terrible, the food was terrible, and the monastery was cold as Nocturnal's ass. It was a miserable, miserable time.

For me.

Chase, on the other hand…

I never thought I'd see him so happy. It was crazy! He _loved _High Hrothgar! You'd swear that Argonian was born to live there! Even when I tried to pick on Chase he didn't once snap back at me. Nothing fazed him. It was as if he achieved some sort of religious enlightenment; he'd join the Greybeards in their meditation sessions for hours. I thought maybe he just liked the quiet.

One afternoon I asked him why he was enjoying himself so much. There was something in the way he answered me that seemed to come from a place close to his heart.

"Dar-Meena, this monastery… I've longed for _years_ to find place like this," he said. "A place where the world's troubles cannot reach me. A place of peace, serene and remote. If not for the chilling weather, I do not think I would ever leave."

He sounded sincere about it. His good mood was contagious. But here's the craziest part: Chase was _talkative._ He talked with me about all kinds of things! Life in Black Marsh, places he'd traveled to, people he'd met. He told me some of the most vivid stories I've ever heard. One was so insane it _had_ to be true, some bit about taking on a crew of Khajiit pirates and burning down their ship in the Topal Sea!

High Hrothgar did something with the old Chase and replaced him with a forgery. Not that I complained about it. He was the only reason I didn't throw myself off the mountain out of boredom.

For his last training exercise, the Greybeards permitted me to watch. It wasn't graciousness on their part. I was very insistent. I sat out in the courtyard on a sunny day, squinting to see in spite of the bright snow. Chase had just finished learning a new Shout and was ready to give a demonstration.

"Stand next to me," Arngeir instructed him. "Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes."

Chase and Arngeir were standing several yards away from a large metal gate in the middle of the courtyard. It looked kind of like a W, with four segments making two folding halves. Chase was facing the gate in a running start position. He glanced a few times at me, not used to having an audience.

Arngeir turned to one of the other Greybeards.

"Master Borri?"

Chase let out a long breath.

"Vex!"

The Greybeard's voice opened the gate. Chase Shouted.

"WULD… NAH KEST!"

He suddenly shot forward with a blast of air and passed through the gate in a blink. It looked like he'd been lifted an inch off of the ground. He kicked up wings of snow as he slid to a halt with his right foot out front. The gate shut itself a moment later. I stood up from my seat.

_That… was amazing!_

I felt immediately jealous of Chase's powers. Magic never looked so fun before. I went over to him as he walked back to his starting place, brushing off his pants.

"Do that again!" I said. "I want to see it up close!"

Chase smiled at me, but glanced at Arngeir as he approached us. His smile faded.

"Maybe later," he said, motioning for me to stay put. He went up to meet the Greybeard halfway. Arngeir always wore the same face for every occasion, wrinkly and inexpressive.

"Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is… astonishing," the old man said. "I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself…"

"I cannot explain how I do it," Chase replied. "It feels natural... like swimming."

"You were given this gift by the gods for a reason. It is up to you to determine how best to use it," he said, pausing as I walked up beside Chase. "You are now ready for your last trial."

"And what's that?" I asked.

"You must depart from here and travel far to the marshes of Hjalmarch. Retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, in the ancient fane of Ustengrav."

So a fetch quest, in other words. _Finding _this Ustengrav place was apparently part of the test. How wonderful.

"Who was Jurgen Windcaller?" Chase asked.

"He was a great war leader of the ancient Nords, and a master of the Voice," Arngeir replied. "After the disaster at Red Mountain, where the Nord army was annihilated, he spent many years pondering the meaning of that terrible defeat.

"Jurgen Windcaller finally came to realize that the gods punished the Nords for their arrogant and blasphemous misuse of the Voice. He was the first to understand that the Voice should be used solely for the worship and glory of the gods, not the glory of men."

"The Way of the Voice," Chase said softly.

"Huh?" I looked at him. "The way of what?"

"The Way of the _Voice_, Dar-Meena. It is the Greybeards' philosophy. Breath and focus. True mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions."

_What kind of crack is that? _I told him what I thought with a face.

"We strive to achieve this balance," Arngeir said to me, "in the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth's domain, and the practice of the Voice."

I hugged my arms together, shivering in the cold. "Yeah sure, whatever."

Old beardy turned to Chase again and bowed. "We are pleased with your respect for our teachings. But remember, Dragonborn, that you are an exception to all the rules – the Dragon Blood is a gift. You were given it by Akatosh himself. While our Voices give glory to the gods, your Voice should grace the races of men. Remember this, and you will remain true to The Way."

"I understand," Chase said. "There is one last question I wish to ask you"

Arngeir silently awaited it.

"I want to know why the dragons are returning. Does it have to do with me?"

The Greybeard brooded over this. "No doubt. The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident. Your destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear."

Chase frowned, seeming concerned.

"There must be more you can tell me."

"There is indeed much we know that you do not…" Arngeir brought his arms together in his robe. "That does not mean that you are ready to understand it. Do not let your easy mastery of the Thu'um tempt you into the arrogance of power. That has been the downfall of many Dragonborn before you."

In spite of that reply sounding annoyingly priggish, Chase took it graciously. He gave a slight bow of his upper body, eyes closed, tail straight, fist to his heart.

"Hakkuut, xhu. I thank you for all that you've given me," he said. "I will look forward to returning here again, in due time."

I watched him in the corner of my eye and wanted to vomit.

_Kiss-ass…_

~ooooo~

The doors of High Hrothgar closed behind us. Chase walked a few steps down the snowy mountain before stopping, as you would expect, to admire the view. I admired it with him, bundled up in my winter clothes. Clouds hovered low just below us. We were so high up it made me dizzy.

"Back to the world of the living," Chase whispered to himself.

He stood there forever. I felt the urge to punch his shoulder but held it back. The time we spent in High Hrothgar had been a retreat for him. He was sad to leave. Something really, _really_ bothered me about that Argonian's depression.

_What kind of life do you have to live to fall in love with a place like High Hrothgar? _

I knew Chase was Dragonborn and all, but how rough did he really have it? There was so much about him I didn't know…

"_Come on_, Chase," I finally said, tugging at his sleeve. "We are not staying here."

"Have I no say in the matter?" he replied.

"No."

"But–"

"No. Shut up and walk."

Chase heaved a sigh. We started stepping down the path together.

"What would you have done if I tried to stay?" he asked.

"Simple." I help up my vile of paralyzing poison. "I would've drugged your food, tied you to a rope and dragged you down the mountain."

That made him laugh. I raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, you think that's funny?"

"This may sound strange… but I think I am glad you would."

I snorted. "Don't try to soften me up. I know you'd sooner throw me off this cliff if you had the chance."

Chase looked at me with a humble grin. "Why would I do that?"

"Well… because…" I stared at the ground, suddenly embarrassed. "Because you think I'm a liability! You think I'm a…"

He tilted his head slightly. "When have I ever said that to you?"

I made the mistake of catching his gaze. He had that dumb smile of his again… that dumb, stupid, disgustingly honest smile. I snapped my eyes back to the path, feeling a flush of hot blood in my face. I'm glad he couldn't see it.

"You said I was in the way," I whispered bitterly.  
Chase frowned. We both faced the path.

"Yes... I was angry," he said. "Partly at you. Partly at myself."

There was a short lapse between us. I glared at him.

"You still need my help, you know."

"Hmm. Perhaps."

We left it at that. I'm not sure if we accomplished anything with that conversation, but it did… something. I was just happy that the trip back down the Seven Thousand Steps would be easier than the trip up. And we wouldn't get stuck in a blizzard. Or have to carry dozens of extra pounds of meat and fish.

After the past week me and Chase had together, I couldn't believe how dull that sounded.

~ooooo~

The Black River wasn't really black but it made for a nice scenic route. Scenic if you like rocks and bugs, anyway. A few days had passed since we returned to Ivarstead. We got our payment from Klimmek and, after gearing up and finding out the location of Ustengrav, went off to retrieve the Greybeard's wind horn or whatever. Even Chase seemed reluctant about the trip, but he needed to complete his trial. He wanted more information from those four old coots.

I'm sorry – _five_ old coots. Chase told me there was allegedly a fifth Greybeard at the top of the mountain. Their leader, someone named Paarthurnax. Can you imagine some lonely old man living all by himself up on a mountain peak? What would he do all day See how far down the rocks he could piss before it froze in mid-air?

The gentle river we followed was at the edge of Skyrim's volcanic tundra. Jagged rocks lined most of the route. I was dying to get off my feet for just one day. There were hot springs further inland, but I couldn't convince Chase to let us to stop by them. It would've only been a slight detour! Hmph. You can imagine my reply to _him_ when he asked if _I_ would mind carrying his things so he could go swim in the river. Fat chance. Our scales were staying dry.

One warm evening we stopped to camp by the riverbank. Chase went off into some woods nearby for food, as usual. I didn't mention to him the provisions I'd bought in Ivarstead – bread, cheese and soup. No matter how many times that man fed me nature's bounties, I would never acquire a taste for his pallet. I tried to hurry up and eat before Chase got back so I wouldn't have to share. He'd be fine. He was the one who liked eating leaves and tree bark.

The last time Chase foraged for food, he took me with him to teach me more wilderness stuff. This time he went alone. I was about to discover he had a reason for that.

"…NAH KEST!"

It was the sound of Chase's Shout, followed by a rustling of trees. I shot up to my feet and listened. Everything went quiet.

"Chase?" I called out. No answer. I set down my food and climbed up a steep gravel hill to reach the woods above. It was a very thin forest, very dry. Chase wasn't anywhere I could see. He said he wouldn't travel far…

_Is he ditching me again!? He'd better not!_

"Chase! Chase, where are you?"

I heard a snap and saw a twig fall down in front of me. I bent my neck back all the way and saw Nirn's first tree-fairing Argonain, clinging to the trunk of a brownish-green pine.

"If you plan on mocking me, do it now. I am still partially out of earshot," he exclaimed from high above.

"What…? Chase, how…" I raised a hand to block the glare of the sunset. "I know I heard you Shout."

"You heard correctly."

"Chase, did you… _Shout_ yourself into a tree?"

That sentence had no right to make as much sense as it did.

"I will explain everything once I climb back down," he said.

"Oh no, I don't think so! You can stay up there and explain it."

"Dar-Meena, I am going to ignore you this once…"

"I'll start throwing rocks."

Chase swore and grumbled something to himself. I snickered as he awkwardly tried to find a branch he could sit on.

"I am trying to learn the limitations of this Shout, Whirlwind Sprint. At first I thought the Shout could only dash me forward, parallel to the ground." He repositioned himself in a more comfortable spot. "But… that was a false impression. The Shout throws me in whatever direction the front of my body is facing. I tried lying on my back and…"

"You went flying into a tree."

"That part was intentional."

"Uh-huh."

He looked off into the sky, watching clouds drift. I've got to hand it to Chase – pretty creative of him to try using his Shout like that. I wondered if he would figure out how to do fancy tricks with all those other Shouts the Greybeards taught him. They probably wouldn't be as entertaining.

Chase gave me a dirty look. "I am coming back down now."

I returned a sharp-toothed smile. "Go ahead. I'm satisfied."

He climbed down quickly, snapping branches off in the process. His pant leg almost snagged and tore a new hole. Chase had most of his armor fixed but it still looked a little rough. Of course, _my_ clothes weren't much better. It took a lot of scrubbing for me to get the blood off my jacket. I saved some money by sewing up the shoulder myself, not minding the shoddy stitches.

"Apologies," Chase said, landing on the ground. "I have dawdled long enough. There are still a few more things I need to gather."

"Sure, sure," I replied. "Take your time. I'm not that hungry right now."

He folded his arms. "I am sure you aren't. You have already eaten, yes?"

"Chase, you weren't gone _that _long. I can't gather food faster than you."

"Dar-Meena, I can smell your breath…"

"Oh. Nevermind then."

I don't know why I even tried to fool him. How silly of me to forget that Chase has the nose of a dog. And the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a deer. Shit, the Dragonborn can probably _taste _things unknowable to us mere mortals.

He went off to keep foraging through the woods. I followed him.

"Hey Chase… I want to ask you something."

"Let it wait until later. I would finish this first."

"Come on, it'll only take a minute!"

"I said not now."

I stopped and Chase kept walking.

"I've been waiting forever to ask you this," I growled. "Don't you brush me off."

"If you have waited forever, surely you can stand a few more minutes."

I huffed, quietly picking up a plum-sized rock off the ground. I waited until he put some distance between us and threw it at his back. He snatched it in his hand without even looking.

"Your antics are tired, Dar-Meena," he said. "Learn to have patience."

_Fine… You win. _Chase resumed his stroll, carrying the rock with him. I was about to turn around and leave. Then Chase anchored his feet, staring down at the rock in his palm, thinking something.

He chucked it toward a clearing and Shouted.

"WULD!"

Chase dashed past the rock, turning as he slid to a halt, and knocked it aside with his wrist before it hit the ground. Wasn't enough for him to flaunt his reflexes once, huh? He had to keep the showboat sailing. I was impressed, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. I gave a slow round of applause.

"Way to go," I said dryly. "You sure taught that rock a lesson."

He shook his wrist. "I was trying to catch it," he grumbled. "This is no good… I have to be able to gauge the distance I travel with this Shout."

I thought he'd gauged it just fine, but Chase wanted to fret over being a few inches off. That would probably matter, though, in a fight with life and limb at stake, so I couldn't really fault him. He was a meticulous Argonian.

"Thinking you'll master your Thu'um in a day?" I said.

He gripped his wrist in his hand. "I _will_ master it one way or another."

_Gods, you love being dramatic…_

"Well, you know where to find me if you need rocks thrown at you," I said, waving behind as I left for the river.

The sun was almost set and the sky was a deep dark blue. Since the days me and Chase started traveling together, we slowly settled into routines. Tonight was Chase's night to keep watch first. He still insisted on staying awake till dawn from time to time. It didn't affect him all that much, but I couldn't figure out why he refused to sleep so often.

Stars were starting to glitter above. I was lying on my back, building up the nerve to ask Chase my question again. He was sitting cross-legged in the shallow edge of the river, silently meditating. I opened my mouth and let the words spill out.

"Can you teach me how to cast that shield magic of yours?"

Chase turned his head back. He stared at me, mouth slightly open. I could see the white of his teeth at the front of his snout.

"You mean… my wards?" he asked.

"Whatever you call them," I said, sitting upright.

"Dar-Meena, you want me to teach you_ spellcasting_?"

"That's kind of the idea."

The wiry man unfolded his legs and turned around all the way, upsetting the water.

"I… You do not seem to realize what you're asking…"

"No, I think I do."

"Most people are incapable of learning magic. It takes a certain type of mind…"

"Are you saying I can't do it?"

"Not… quite…" He bit his tongue. "Anyone can access magicka. It is inherent in all living things. But it takes a strong will and practice to use it for spellcasting."

"Then answer my question. Can you teach me?"

Chase eyed me uncertainly.

"Why are you suddenly interested in magic?"

"It seems useful."

"Yes, it is… but…"

Knowing Chase, it was going to take some openness on my part to convince him to do anything. I hunched forward.

"Look, we're going to be fighting dragons together," I said. "You can defend yourself against their fire, or any kind of magic. I can't. That bothers me."

"Hmm… I see. You desire a defense against the arcane."

"You remember that necromancer, don't you?"

Chase grew somber. "Yes…"

"I couldn't do anything to protect myself from him. I had to depend on you to save me… Do you have any idea how maddening that felt? I was terrified, completely helpless."

I glared at Chase, holding the end of my tail tightly in my hands.

"I _never_ want to be that helpless again."

He glanced away at the water with a troubled look on his face. Chase shut his eyelids and breathed out through his nose.

"We will have to find you a spell tome," he said, eyes on me again. "I lack the skill to teach you spellcasting off of memory. The most I can do is guide you and help you practice."

"So you'll do it?"

He nodded. "I understand your reasons for wanting this. We will work on it together."

I didn't grin on purpose. It was something I couldn't help. That's happiness, for you.

"Sounds good," I said. "Where can we get a spell tome?"

"From a court wizard. That is if the wizard has any he's willing to part with," Chase replied with a generous helping of pessimism. "Do not get your hopes up too high. It took me months to learn how to control my magicka for the first time. I have my doubts that anything will come of this."

_Then I'll just have to surprise you… won't I?_

"We can still try."

"Mm. Indeed we can."

I went to lie on my back again.

"Chase… thanks."

He smiled a warm smile.

"Of course."

Chase turned around and faced the river. As I settled back on my pallet, I watched him meditate. I wished I knew the things that were going through his head. His breathing was relaxed, shoulders rising and falling with a steady rhythm. He was like a stone sitting in that water, back straight, eyes closed, wind gently blowing through his feathers. A picture of quiet strength and control.

After a while it struck me how long I had been staring. I scoffed at myself and went back to stargazing. He wasn't… _unpleasant_ to look at. I'd seen plenty of Argonians more handsome than him. If they were sculpted statues, then Chase was more like rock in its natural state, raw and weathered.

I gave him one last glance, smiling to myself.

_I guess there's a sort of handsomeness to that… _

But I had to remind myself that there was something else about Chase, something he tried to keep buried. His malice. On the surface his kindness fought it down, but all it took were the right pressures to coax a killer out of him. Chase was thoughtful and caring. He was also a man of extremes. That didn't scare me, though it did make it hard to feel comfortable around him.

_A wanderer with no place to go… caught in a storm of dragons and assassins…_

What was he running from? Who did he used to be?

_What kind of life do you have to live…?_

Questions for later. I wanted to sleep.

~ooooo~

"Chase, there's a village up ahead – look, see?" I held the map up to Chase's eyes, blocking his view as he walked. "_Kynesgrove._ It says it right there."

He pushed the map away from his face, trampling creep clusters under his boots. The salmon colored clumps of vine were scattered across the volcanic valley. It was an uncharacteristically warm afternoon for Skyrim. Probably had something to do with the blazing sun and hissing steam vents all around us.

The scenery was a perfect reflection of our moods.

"We have enough provisions for now," Chase said grumpily. "We do not need to make any stops."

"Speak for yourself! You're used to this," I muttered. My feet were sore and tired. "You grew up in a swamp."

"What does that have to do with–!?" He cut himself off with a grunt and rubbed the scars on his face. "Dar-Meena, is the need this urgent?"

"Why does it have to be urgent? I never even said this was about provisions."

"Then what _is_ this about?"

I spread out my arms. "_Rest_! And people! You know, other faces? Believe it or not, I get tired of looking at yours all the time."

Chase snarled. "We have resigned to this journey with very different expectations…"

"And that's _my_ fault?"

"Of course it isn't!"

"Then whose fault is it!?"

"Xhuth, this is no one's fault!"

"Don't give me that crap, if it was no one's fault–"

"It is a lack of communication!"

**"**We're communicating just fine, dammit!"

**"**No we are _not_!" he yelled, throwing his arms in frustration. Chase stopped in his tracks and planted a palm on his forehead. "Kaah, why do I let you get under my scales…!?"

I sighed. "Okay, okay, I kept that one going. Calm down, Chase."

He pushed out a breath to relax himself.

"Let us not bicker any more about this…"

"But Kynesgrove is close," I whined. "Can't we make an exception?"

"Dar-Meena… We must avoid villages and cities whenever possible, lest we risk leaving behind too many witnesses," he said. "I have explained this to you! I know that you are upset with these travel conditions, but _please…_ think of the assassins. If the Dark Brotherhood has a contract against me, they may still attempt to complete it. They will not send amateurs a second time."

I kicked the ground.

"Godsdamned assassins… This is bullshit…"

"No one is forcing you to travel with me," he said worriedly. "You are putting this all on yourself, Keerthelh."

My face twisted. "What did you just call me?"

"Nothing… nothing…" Chase turned away, looking out across the tundra.

He went rigid.

Chase rushed over to the top of a rock shelf, gazing out with his arms hanging limp. I looked and saw what he saw, stepping up next to him. There was a storm of some kind, a huge cyclone of dark clouds. It was low to the ground, sitting right on top of a village. The maelstrom brought strong snowy winds. Everywhere else the skies were still clear and sunny. It was bizarre and frightening at the same time.

"Tell me you know what kind of storm that is," I muttered.

"There is nothing natural about a storm like _that_," he hissed.

Chase pulled out his telescope to get a closer view. He set his sights on something inside the cyclone and gently lowered the eyeglass with a shiver.

"What is it? What's over there?"

"There is a dragon flying in that cyclone," he whispered. "A _black_ _dragon_…"

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_Whirlwind Sprint in Skyrim only dashes the player forward. I thought that was boring, so I've decided to make the shout a little more potent._


	46. Arc 2 - Chapter 22

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 22 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Fredas, 12th of Hearthfire 4E 201_

Delphine was taking Reinhardt and I to a village called Kynesgrove, south of Windhelm. The knowledge she had to share with us along the way was shocking. She spoke of an ancient stone map that the wizard Farengar had recovered as his part of their cooperation, containing locations of ancient dragon burial mounds.

Delphine claimed to have visited these mounds and found them empty.

"The dragons weren't gone somewhere for all these years," she told us as we rode together to the east. "They were dead, killed off centuries ago. Now something's happening to bring them back to life."

Not all of the mounds were vacant. Only dragons buried in Skyrim's southeast had been resurrected. Delphine did not perceive this to be happenchance, but rather the beginning of something more sinister. There resurrections had begun in the Jerall Mountains near Riften and were slowly spreading northwest across the rest of the province. "The mound at Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds," she said. "If we can get there before it happens, maybe we'll learn how to stop it."

I must confess I had my doubts about this mysterious woman. She was loath to disclose even the vaguest information about herself. Yet the circumstances of our meeting at Ustengrav were too convincing for me to harbor any qualms. Delphine was searching for the Dragonborn and a way to stop the dragons, same as us. The possibility of witnessing a dragon resurrection outweighed all risks in my opinion. This was a precious opportunity we could not neglect.

We traveled by horse for three days through the frozen north of Skyrim. It was a quiet journey. Sparse exchanges of dialogue were made with our new escort, until the time of arrival was almost upon us. By then the snowy countryside had transformed into a greener mountain foot with pine trees and rocky terrain.

"There's an inn at Kynesgrove – the Braidwood," Delphine said above the clopping of our horses. "I hear they serve a nice dark ale. Nothing on the Sleeping Giant, of course."

Reinhardt raised his mustache. "Dark ale? Eh… I'd go for something more rich and dry right about now. A good stout, maybe."

"Where will we find the dragon burial mound?" I asked.

Delphine kept to minding the road. "The innkeeper ought to be able to tell us where it is. Can't be too far from the village."

"Just don't forget," Reinhardt said with a leery smirk, "this is making up for all your threats at Ustengrav. Doesn't mean we're friends."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Delphine replied. "Still, I'm glad you were willing to trust me. I know it probably wasn't the best way to introduce myself, but… old habits. You know."

We were accompanying a woman with enemies; that I could presume. She was in Skyrim impersonating an innkeeper to operate incognito. Quite suspicious. Then there was her sword. Distinctly exotic, it seemed to me. The hand guard depicted interlocking serpents, handle inlaid with gold designs beneath an outer wrap. It was a very slender blade. I'd seen weapons just as ornate, but hers was of a style I couldn't place with any known cultures in Tamriel. Delphine had mentioned her 'employers' to Farengar back at Dragonsreach. Was she part of an organization? If so, who?

_There are people operating in the shadows amidst this dragon business, tangled with the events of their return. What forces are at work behind it all?_

Stones upon the cobble road suddenly began to clatter. A sound like rumbling thunder shook the air. Our horses stopped.

"Shore's bones, what is that!_?_" Reinhardt exclaimed. "A storm!?"

A gathering of dark clouds had suddenly appeared in the sky, swelling and expanding into a violent tempest. It hovered over top our destination. Nothing but magic could account for such a phenomenon. We heard distant cries.

"Look alive," Delphine snapped. "There are people coming."

Nords were rushing toward us in a droving herd. The inhabitants of Kynesgrove had taken to the roads, fleeing from the storm that loomed above their village. They passed us by without a moment of regard, repeating the same message – _turn back_. Reinhardt stopped a woman amidst the crowd, trotting his horse in front of her.

"Woah there, slow down!" he said. "What's happening here?"

The spindly woman thought us insane, checking behind for signs of pursuit. Fear creased her pale face.

"No, you don't want to go back there! A dragon–!"

Roaring filled the skies. We shot our eyes up at the clouds and glimpsed a pair of enormous black wings.

"Come on, hurry! We might already be too late," Delphine barked as she drove her horse into a gallop. We rode behind her into the storm. Blustery winds assailed us with growing intensity. Snowflakes melted on my skin. The dragon banked overhead in the air, frightening our mounts. They bucked in objection to any further spurring.

"Leave the horses!" Reinhardt said as he threw himself off of his saddle. "Let's go!"

The three of us dismounted and hurried along an uphill road that cut through the heart of Kynesgrove. We left behind the Braidwood Inn, its doors swung open and rooms emptied. There was a small mining camp and a vegetable farm, riddled with tools the townsfolk left behind. Chickens flapped their wings and squawked in their coops. Cattle had broken out of their pens. Tailwinds from the wyrm swayed trees and grass speckled with snow.

This was not the scene of a dragon attack. There were no buildings destroyed, no dead to be found. The black dragon merely flew in circles with the cyclonic clouds. I glimpsed its shape amid the storm, even more menacing than the wyrm we fought at Mount Anthor, with jagged scales and sharp angles all over its body. In the dim light its blood-red eyes glowed. The dragon's roar was harsh and piercing, enough to rattle the bones of any creature with ears to hear.

No doubt _it _had caused the storm to appear. Controlling the weather with magic would require vast quantities of magicka. If this dragon could command such power, it was of an order unto itself.

At the crest of the path, a small group of armed and armored soldiers were gathered behind a crop of boulders. I counted nine in total. They must have been guards to the village who chose to stay behind. Reinhardt later told me the men and women were Stormcloaks, on account of the blue cloth they wore.

One of them tried to send us away as we approached. "What are you all doing here? The village has fled! Go! Run for the hills!"

"We're not going anywhere," Reinhardt scoffed, pushing past the man. "Move over, milk drinkers."

"Lorkhan's eyes! Look at that big bastard!" Delphine whispered, observing the dragon above. We hunkered behind the boulders with the Stormcloaks, wind blowing through our clothes. The wyrm stopped flying in circles and began hovering over Kynesgrove's burial mound. It was still filled with dirt, sitting in the middle of a flat turf overlooking the village. A mountain slope rose behind it, pocked with light forestation.

"This is what we came for," I said. "We must watch and see what happens."

One of the soldiers spoke up. "What do you mean _watch?_ What're you three up to?"

"This ain't no place for your schemes, elf," another sneered.

"Damned mage, are you the cause of this!?" another barked.

Such hostility! I couldn't mask my unease. The Nords seemed ready to string me up a tree. Delphine stepped in to reproach.

"Don't be foolish," she said. "We've come here to stop this."

"We're no fools," replied another Stormcloak. "But we won't bury your bodies if you die." She was an officer, wearing a plated suit of fur with steel clawed gauntlets. A bear pelt dressed her head.

"Nobody here's dying," Reinhardt growled, "except for that dragon."

"Hush!" I hissed. "Something's happening!"

The black dragon spoke. Its voice was deep and commanding.

"Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!"

With three words it uttered a Shout upon the mound: "Slen tiid vo!" There came a rumbling beneath our feet. From under the mound's shifting dirt, the reanimated bones of a dragon climbed out. Its complete lack of muscles or living tissue was of no consequence. As the skeletal dragon pulled the last of itself out from its grave, embers began to glow around the body. They slowly attached to the skeleton and cooled, becoming muscle fibers, sinews, organs, and scales. Its flesh was being rendered from a power within the air itself.

"This is worse than I thought," Delphine said softly to herself. The embers ceased and where one dragon had been, two were now present. The resurrected dragon donned a hide of copper scales, a head without horns, and a barbed tail.

It spoke as a liege to its lord.

"Alduin, thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?"

"Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir," the black wyrm replied.

The storm continued to whorl overhead. We watched the scene from the relative safety of the rocks. My Nord companion, however, felt compelled to stand up and step into the open.

I reached out to him. "Reinhardt, no! Get back here this instant!"

"They know we're here," he spoke low-toned. "I won't cower before these beasts." The stalwart man exposed himself to the dragons and the elements. Long strands of hair whipped across his face.

His courage was foolhardy, but I couldn't let him be a fool alone. I rose and stood by his side. Delphine followed. Soon the others were mimicking Reinhardt's gesture of bravery. Everyone stood before the dragons. They set their eyes on us. The black one twisted a sneer on its face, a look of utter contempt.

"Ful, joor do daar bok lost naram pahlokaal," it said. "You do not even know our tongue, do you? Conceited mortals." The dragon turned again to its subject and gave a command. "Sahloknir, krii daar joor. Kos zokoraav, fah siigonis dovahkiin lov."

At this, the black dragon flew away, disappearing beyond the storm. The remaining wyrm spoke to us.

"My lord requires your deaths. I am glad to oblige him!" The dragon stood on its hind legs. It spread out its wings with a blast of air in intimidating display. "I am Sahloknir! Hear my Voice and despair!"

The Stormcloak officer brought a battleaxe to bear and raised it high.

"For Ulfric, and Skyrim!"

With a unified battle cry, the soldiers charged. Reinhardt and Delphine charged with them. I stayed back to wait for an opening.

Against the fear rising in me, I felt underpinning confidence. We knew what kind of creature we were fighting against. We had strength in numbers. The fight would be bloody, but we had the means to prevail.

It was confidence in ignorance. We were not prepared for the Shouts this dragon knew…

"FAS… RU MAAR!"

It unleashed its voice. A visible soundwave flowed out, tinting the air a translucent red. The Shout wrapped around objects and people that obstructed it. Staying back had been my fortune. I was just out of its range. The red tint faded and the charging Nords staggered back. Cries of panic ensued.

The dragon had cast a magical incantation not unlike an illusion spell. Its attackers were suddenly gripped with debilitating fear, so strong that some abandoned their weapons and tried to flee. The rest fought against the domineering power of the Shout using sheer willpower, with varying amounts of success.

The wyrm exploited this chaos and slammed its tail down upon a fleeing Stormcloak, before sweeping it across the ground. Men and women were toppled aside. One was impaled on the spikes that barbed the creature's tail. A few including Delphine and the Stormcloak officer still had wits to dodge, but Reinhardt was among those swept away.

I did not need to be struck by any Shout to feel dismay at that moment, watching my companion get brushed aside like an ant. In fright I ran to him instead of fighting the dragon. The beast assaulted with its limbs and snapped with its jaws, filling the windy air with dying screams.

As I bent down to pick Reinhardt off the ground, he suddenly clutched at my arm, eyes staring wide at the dragon. His grip was painful tight.

"What… _is this_!?" He shrieked, writhing in terror. "_What's happening_!?"

My spirits sank. Reinhardt's will hadn't been strong enough to oppose the dragon's magic. It was a cruelty to behold. Here was a Nord I'd come to think could stand before a hundred dragons undaunted. To see him in this terror-stricken state felt, for lack of a better word, heartbreaking.

"It's an illusion, Reinhardt!" I cried. "What you're seeing isn't real! You must fight it!"

A bright light flashed. The dragon's fire breath cascaded upon a Stormcloak, his shield raised in desperation to block the heat. An ally rushed to save him. The woman grazed her sword on the dragon's neck. It recoiled with a snarl and snatched her in its teeth, gnashing the woman into tatters. The wyrm tossed away her remains. Blood dribbled down its chin. It knocked aside another attacker with a wing slap, turning then to face Reinhardt and me. The creature approached.

But Delphine had snuck in close. Her blade cut the dragon's wing. It flinched back and took to the air – the wyrm wouldn't leave its wing exposed to further harm. But the start of its takeoff left it vulnerable. I channeled my staff's charge.

_This is for Reinhardt, you monster!_

An explosive fireball punished the wyrm's escape, scorching the scales upon its chest. The dragon roared, soaring away. It was resilient. Killing the creature would require more than a few simple spellcastings.

"We've got to ground this son of a bitch!" Delphine shouted, arming her crossbow.

The remaining soldiers grabbed bows from their backs and their fallen. What followed was a frantic struggle to end the dragon's flight. I guided Reinhardt away toward a grove of trees. He dragged his sword limply with him. The Nord's mind was still in turmoil.

"The dragon…" he mumbled. "That dragon…"

There were only five people left scattered in the open field. Delphine was still alive along with four other Stormcloaks. The wyrm flew. Arrows sailed.

"WULD!"

The dragon's Shout dashed it clear of all missiles as it came around and snatched a man away. More arrows soared for a target, but the dragon avoided their arcs. The wyrm was hardly slowed by its attackers. Our losses increased. No werewolves would turn the tide this time. Every death made defeat more certain.

I continued to lead my companion away from the battle. He looked at me with a mixture of confusion and dread.

"Falura…?"

"Keep fighting, Reinhardt. I'm taking you to safety," I said. "You'll wear the magic out!"

"…Magic…"

"Just keep fighting it!"

"…That… bastard…"

He suddenly stopped us both and pushed away from me. Something in the Nord had snapped, his brow rumpling.

"That bastard!" Reinhardt growled back at the winged beast. "I let that bastard…!"

The wyrm's spell had waned. The Nord's fear was gone, replaced with hot rage. I could see bloodlust in his eyes. He shouted with a fist in the air.

"You're dead, dragon! You hear me!? _Dead_!"

My companion had indeed returned to me. I breathed out. _Oh, Azura's kindness…_

Reinhardt abruptly became conscious of himself and turned to me. He had a muddled gawp on his face. Was he ashamed? Embarrassed?

"Falura..."

"Let's kill this creature," I said, facing the dragon in flight. "Our journey shall not end here!" Survival was the ultimate goal. We had to persevere.

I wouldn't perish without passing on my knowledge of the dragons. I wouldn't leave Ethyl in mourning. And, perhaps, to add to the list of imperatives… I wouldn't lose Reinhardt.

"Now there's some sense," he said. "Time to show this dragon who Skyrim belongs to!"

We returned to the fight together. The wyrm had just grabbed another victim, the Stormcloak officer, flying her up into the storm. He reappeared empty-clawed from the clouds and dove for us. I focused an inferno of fire in my staff, near in power to the one that burned the white dragon. I taught it a lesson: the error of coming too close to me. A fire blast erupted from my staff's crystal head. The dragon corrected its dive and swerved off, scales alight with flame. It bellowed.

Yet the attack was ineffective. Was the creature resistant to fire? The white dragon had been wounded by it far more. With a soul gem I recharged a portion of my staff. I was running out of energy to feed it. Reinhardt sheathed his sword and began shooting his bow.

The wyrm tried next to grab Delphine. She dodged and dealt a deep wound to its leg, bleeding badly as it flew. Its subsequent gout of fire breath met a Stormcloak near us. The man hollered as he failed to avoid it.

Reinhardt swore. We couldn't keep losing men like this.

"I'm going for him! Keep that dragon off us!"

My companion rushed over, using his cloak to put out the flames burning the Stormcloak. The dragon tried to finish them off, but a fireball from my staff deterred it. As it flew away I saw loathing for me in its gaze. I was an obstacle, a pest. It redirected its efforts, making my death a priority. I recharged my staff with my last soul gem and prepared to deliver another fiery blow.

The dragon soared over trees and rocks to reach me. It landed with a quake. I could smell the blood of Nords on its breath. It was close, much too close. I would correct that momentarily. My staff's crystal glowed like the sun.

The creature still hadn't learned its lesson.

Or so I believed.

"ZUN… HAAL!"

A burst of white-blue magic blew from the dragon's lungs and blasted against me. I felt the fingers gripping my staff pry open. Something in the magic took over my nerves. I gasped. The staff flew from my grasp far off into the woods behind me.

It was another new Shout. A disarming Shout.

Panic rattled me. I ducked under the wyrm's snapping teeth and tried to scamper away, to little avail. With a swing of its muzzle it knocked me off of my feet and into the air. The breeze felt cold. My flight was impeded by the trunk of a tree. The back of my head stuck its bark and I dropped face-first into the grass, ears ringing, bearings lost.

"Falura!" Reinhardt hollered.

The Nord ran to my aid. He slashed the dragon's thigh with his sword, trying to distract it long enough for me to escape, but I was too dazed to come to my feet. The dragon lashed its tail at Reinhardt and he fell on his side. His sword clattered onto a stony patch of dirt. Though my vision was blurred, I watched the Nord scramble to retrieve his weapon, only for the dragon to stomp its foot on the blade.

There was a snap of steel. The weapon broke in two. Reinhardt was little more than a nuisance to the creature now. It brushed him aside with a powerful slap of its wing. He landed on his back.

The dragon fixed its eyes on me.

_No! Stand up! This is not the end!_

I rose to my hands and knees. Delphine was running, but she wouldn't make it in time. The wyrm was upon me. Nothing stood in its way.

_The ring! Cast your ward! _

I extended my left hand weakly. The dragon thumped nearer. Something warm trickled behind my ear.

"This… is not the end…" I whispered.

It opened its mouth.

"YOL…"

Two Shouts rang out.

"…TOOR SHUL!"

"…NAH KEST!"

A ward blocked its stream of fire. Cast not by me, but by the man who dashed between us on a gust of wind. He slid to a stop in a half-crouch, his tail trailing after him. As a flaring blaze of orange fanned at the front of his outstretched shield, the Argonian looked back with a glare as fierce as the dragon itself.

"_Stay behind me_!"


	47. Arc 2 - Chapter 23

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 23 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

The beast was denied its kill and growled at me, the denier. I was dwarfed by the dragon in all dimensions, yet we stood as rivals on equal ground. We were predators of a kind.

"Losei Dovahkiin? Hi orin lost vrii!" It spoke. "I reject you as dovah, mortal."

Xehtasken called for blood. I freed the blade from its confinement.

"I am no dovah," I hissed. "I am death. If you seek it, step forward."

The dragon took to the air. Confidence, it seemed, was not a function of size. It flew away above the storm to plan and prepare. I snorted and turned about to the Dunmer, wounded but still alive to my relief. I had feared I would not make it in time.

"Stand up," I said, lending her my arm. "There… You've been injured. Are you alright?" The woman beheld me, blood trickling down her jawline. Her visage prompted a pricking beneath my scales. Gaunt face, small chin, angled red eyes…

I felt as though I had seen her before. The woman was native to Morrowind, I was almost certain of that. Dunmer age slowly and I rarely forget a face. Was it possible…?

"Who are you?" she whispered, with quiet intensity.

"One who desires to help," I said. I placed a hand on the wounded back of her head. She did not object as my healing spell stopped the bleeding. Deafening winds besieged my ears. There was a man picking himself up off the ground a few yards away. The Dark Elf looked at him as he shuffled over to us.

"Reinhardt," she sighed with a smile of solace.

The Nord froze and gawked at me.

"You!"

I stared back. "Me?"

"Chase!" Dar-Meena called out. She had finally caught up on the road.

"Dar-Meena, watch the skies!" I called back. "It's still here somewhere!"

There were a group of others as well, two men and a woman with blond hair out across the turf. I saw many bodies, the carnage that preceded my arrival. A great anger rose in me. If I had been mere minutes faster…

"You used their magic," the Dunmer said, withdrawing from my presence. "The words, the dash of wind… all the same…"

I looked at her askew. "The same?"

"It's _him,_ Falura!" the man named Reinhardt whooped. "I told you! I told you he was an Argonian!"

I clutched Xhetasken and swung a hard look between the Nord and elf. "What is this? Why do you care what I am?" I spoke to neither in particular. They were each sweaty and marked with dirt. Dar-Meena came beside me, panting, and held the duo with a sneer.

"And who are you two supposed to be?" she said.

"I've a feeling we will soon find out," I murmured.

"Eh? What's this?" Reinhardt wiped his brow. "There's two of 'em?"

The elf named Falura twisted a ring on her finger. "I did not foresee this either…"

"Hey, lizards. You here to help us slay a dragon?"

Dar-Meena looked up at the dark sky. "Where _is_ the dragon?"

"It's hiding above the storm," Falura replied, following Dar-Meena's gaze.

_Is it? _Something did not feel right. I welled up a Thu'um.

"Laas… Yah Nir!"

Aura Whisper consumed my vision, revealing the glow of life forms all around me. The Greybeards had taught me the remaining two words, which could extend the Shout's range of effect by a mile. I looked at the clouds and drew a sharp breath.

"No it's not!" I yelled, pivoting around. I saw a large glowing mass quickly getting larger. The dragon swooped over a wall of mountain rock at our rear and flew toward us, fast.

"Falura!" Reinhardt exclaimed.

"I see it!" the Dunmer cried.

She raised her hand and flicked a thumb off her enchanted ring, producing a ward. I brought my own ward up beside hers as the others fell in line. Our combined shields deflected the scorching onslaught of the dragon's Thu'um.

I watched the monster soar away. It was not the dragon Dar-Meena and I had seen. Its scales were a dull copper color.

"The black dragon!" I snapped at the others. "Where is it? Speak quickly!"

"Gone," Reinhardt answered.

I glared. "Can you be more specific?"

"It flew off," Falura elucidated. She seemed anxious to speak, pointing at a strange stone mound in the middle of the turf. "You must listen to me. The black dragon came here for that burial mound! The creature you see flying now was dead moments ago!"

My eyes widened. Embers in the grass around us blew away with the wind.

"_Dead_?"

"Yes, dead! That black dragon is the cause, the reason all the others are returning! It's resurrecting dragons systematically across Skyrim!"

Her words were like a thunder strike. Something transpired here that I sorely needed to hear about. Sadly my questions would have to wait. Dar-Meena and I had come to this village to rescue its inhabitants, to help them escape the black dragon's siege. Since that no longer appeared necessary, a change of objective was in order. It was time to kill my third dragon.

"Dar-Meena, take these two away from here and lay low," I hissed. "This fight is mine."

The thief's fuming retort was cut off by the Nord's.

"That's not how this works," Reinhardt scoffed. "Give me victory or Sovngarde, but we fight this dragon together!"

I gave the man a fleeting backward glance. "Then you will have keep up with me," I said, breaking into a run.

The wyrm was moving to attack the other survivors, drifting below the tempest above. Dark clouds had begun to slowly disperse. There was nothing maintaining the storm anymore. I intercepted the dragon's flight path and unleashed the first Thu'um I learned, which I could now call by name: Unrelenting Force.

"FUS… RO!"

Two words were sufficient. I held back the third to conserve my Voice. The ring of force that burst from my mouth upset the dragon's flight. It passed overhead without Shouting at us, its opportunity thwarted.

One of the men I saved spoke an exclamation. "By all I hold sacred... that's a Shout! Just like the dragon!" He was a Stormcloak, carrying an iron sword and scorched wooden shield. His companion shared an astonished expression, hefting a heavy battleaxe. They looked weary, signs of shock and trauma. I remembered the bodies. These men had lost friends.

"I'll be damned!" the woman with them spoke softly. "They were right…!"

I stopped and studied her, eyes drawn straightaway to her weapon. An Akaviri Katana. I had only ever seen one other in my lifetime. They originate from the distant land of Akavir, a continent to the east of Tamriel beyond the Padomaic Ocean. She carried the sword with a grip of hardened expertise. It was an extension of herself, a statement about who she was. That katana carried weight.

"All you all so enraptured by this one?" I hissed. "Flee from here if you value your lives!"

The woman was unyielding, her expression turning sour. "I'm not leaving until we bring this dragon down," she growled.

I growled back. "If that is your desire, so be it. Do not stand in my way."

There was a sharpness to her presence that I found disquieting. She wore leather traveling gear, carried a sword and crossbow, and could shoot an angry stare with vicious hostility. I may as well have seen my own reflection.

"We've got to attack the dragon when it lands," she said. "I can distract it while–"

"It will not land unless it wants to," I interrupted. "The monster believes itself safe in the sky. We need to alter that way of thinking."

The woman gave me a look of suspicion. "You have a way to do that?"

"Watch."

I had what seemed at the time a stroke of cunning. The dragon circled toward us, readying a Thu'um. "YOL…" My thoughts quickened. The others jumped aside to evade the wyrm's breath. Instinct told me to do the same, but I clutched Xehtasken and readied a ward spell. "…TOR SHUL!"

I let gravity tip my body back, front facing the dragon at an upward angle.

"WULD!"

Whirlwind Sprint hurled me in that direction. My ward pushed through the dragon's fire as I ascended at an arc, peaking just beneath its altitude. I swung my sword overhead and slashed through the dragon's belly in the air. It flew off, bellowing in rebuff. I tried to land feet first. I was… marginally successful. A badly bruised arm and a few seconds of heavy breathing on the ground encouraged me to reconsider my 'cunning.'

At least it worked.

Dar-Meena was running to me, yelling from afar. "Idiot! Are you trying to kill yourself!?" I was still deciding whether that stunt had been worth the risk, but my answer to her would have probably been, "_I think so._"

This was my reply instead: "Stay back!"

The dragon banked hard and landed sideways in front me. I sprang away as it swung its tail, feeling a _mild_ panic at the sight of its barbed tip whirling past my face. Ground fighting suddenly seemed a poorer strategy. I skirted around the dragon, biding seconds for my Voice to return. The dragon used these seconds to unleash its own Voice upon me.

"FAS… RU MAR!"

The Shout was strong, too strong for my ward to block. It broke through. Dismay fell upon me like a pile of stones, threatening to crush me under its weight. The sensation seemed to come from a place out of my own nightmares. Cries of panic filled my thoughts, a thousand voices screaming all at once, begging me to end the struggle and succumb to terror.

I smothered them. With a shake of my head I refocused, snarling at the angry dragon. _Illusion magic_. _Petty tricks._ If the Zanxhu-Loh could have been defeated with fear spells, we would not have survived our days of bloodletting. Fear kills the mind, but it is not itself a killer. _We _were the killers – assassins of a new order – and fear was our greatest weapon.

Our teachers trained us to embrace it, washed us in it like an ocean's tide, in and out, again and again. Some hatchlings were swept away. They perished. The rest of us emerged transformed. We were not numbed to the cold waters of fear; we still felt their sting. But we learned how to swim against them, in shallows or submerged. We could think no matter the terror, move no matter the dread.

I let the voices scream as I went for the kill.

"WULD!"

I dashed to strike the dragon's wing, to ground it, but I wasn't fast enough. I slid to a halt in a dust cloud. The beast flew away and I roared in frustration. It kept flying and landing repeatedly, exhaustingly. How much longer could the dragon persist before fatigue settled in? I refused to let it escape. My chance to strike would come soon enough.

All of a sudden a fireball scorched the monster's wing in flight. The elf woman Falura had acquired a destruction staff. Unexpected. Fire, however, appeared to have little effect on the dragon. It touched down to retaliate.

_Xhuth, no! _My Voice was still returning to me. I had only my feet to close the distance. They moved so slowly, it riled me. I was faster than this! I could dash on the wind! A white-blue Shout hurled at Falura, blocked by her ward. With alarm I realized the dragon's Voice could recover faster than mine. The Nord Reinhardt stood by the Dunmer; the two fought to hold their own.

I felt it then. Full breath. Whirlwind Sprint sent me flying to the dragon, sliding under its wing with the force of momentum. I rose and felt friction, hilt in both hands, sword dragging across the side of the dragon's face.

"Leave them alone!" I hollered. "This one is your foe! _No one else_!" Though I voiced a demand, it was truly a plea. I had become more powerful, more capable than I ever dreamed possible. I had no excuse. If I could not protect these people now, I was unworthy to wear the mantle of Dragonborn.

Getting in close had been a grave error, as the beast knocked me aside with a toss of its head, smearing the blood of its fresh wound on my chest. I fell on my back and reached for my crossbow. A hasty trigger pull sent a steel-tipped bolt ramming up the dragon's nostril. It roared with a very visible expression of pain.

More arrows struck it. Dar-Meena had arrived. Both she and Reinhardt were landing easy shots on the wyrm, forcing it to ascend once again. Even a creature as mighty as a dragon could only tolerate so many arrows in its skull. My nictitating membranes blocked dirt and dust from entering my eyes. As the debris settled, the Nord warrior approached me lying on the ground.

"Close one there!" Reinhardt said with a smirk, extending his hand. Reluctantly I grabbed it. He pulled me up with a strong jerk. _This man is strangely chipper, _I thought to myself.

"We must ground the dragon," Falura implored, leaning unsteadily on her staff. "This fight can't go on!"

"I can climb atop its head," I hissed. "My blade… One thrust is all I need…"

Reinhardt made a face. "So what are _we_ supposed to do?"

"We're the support, idiot!" Dar-Meena barked, directing him to me. "_He's_ the dragon killer! Our job is to help him win!"

"I do not want your help!" I angrily replied. "I want you safe!"

"We'll be safe when the dragon is dead," Falura spoke in a strict tone.

"Argh, damn that beast!" the Nord said, clenching his fists. "If I still had my sword…!"

"Find another one!" Dar-Meena snapped. "Can't you see the dead bodies lying around?"

The bodies. Even in the cold winds of the dying storm, I could smell their rot. I wanted nothing more than to see the dragon count among their number, feeling violent desire in me. Yet a small sharp voice spoke in my mind's ear.

_Stop these thoughts! You do not fight for bloodlust! Remember why you're here!_

The dragon flew down to the village of Kynesgrove. We heard it land with a thud.

"What's it up to now?" Reinhardt jeered.

"The monster grows tired," I said, reloading my crossbow. "We have worn it down. It is risking a moment of rest."

Falura called and waved to the blond woman. "Delphine!" She and the other Stormcloaks were heading to the road leading back to the village.

"This could be our chance!" Delphine exclaimed. "Come on!"

Everyone was leaving except for me and Dar-Meena.

"Chase, don't just stand there!" The young thief urged me on. I gazed out at the brightening skyline, where the storm's clouds had begun to depart.

"Stay with the others," I said. "I'm going a faster way." Whirlwind Sprint gave me a strong head start. My legs touched the ground and I took off, running for the edge of the rocks overlooking Kynesgrove. Dar-Meena yelled something to let me know she was mad. I scaled down slants of boulders, taking extra care to watch for vertical drops. The thatched buildings of the village were drawing closer. And so was the dragon, watching me from a field of crops.

"YOL!"

A dense breath of fire flew up the hill. It was slow and easy to avoid, though its size was problematic. The dragon fired off single words as rapidly as it could. I jumped and weaved through clouds of flame hurling toward me, blocking them with boulders, trees and wards as I raced down the slope without stopping. My feet were slick with snow.

_It is directing all of its fire on me, _I realized. _Does it not see the others? Or is it that desperate to stop me?_ Truthfully told, I was content either way.

I dropped off a final overpass and landed in a roll. The dragon and I stood face to face, just as we had at the start of our battle. My offer of death remained unchanged. I took a step. The dragon backed up, canines exposed, eyes burning with fury.

"Are you afraid of me?" I spoke calmly, belying an assassin's glare.

It breathed heavily through its nostrils.

"Your Voice is strong... for a mortal…"

Xetahsken demanded blood. In futile attempt the dragon tried to burn its breath of flame through my ward. I could feel my magicka draining, but I was unconcerned. I had the upper hand. These were the dragon's last moments. I spoke Unrelenting Force, narrowing its cone with sharp pronunciation.

"FUS… RO DAH!"

It hit the dragon's jaw like a hard swung fist, causing it to stumble aside. Its wing almost slapped me as I tried to get near. We danced about. It kept me at bay. The dragon ensured it had a limb it could strike with between us at all times, well aware of the finality my sword would bring. My back was at a mountain and my face was to the village. Just as the wyrm prepared another Shout, it bellowed a growling roar of agony. The dragon twisted its head around, seeing the barbed end of its tail chopped off.

"Hey! You're not gonna miss this, are ya!?" Reinhardt mocked, holding a bloodstained battleaxe in his hands.

The wyrm rotated its body. A fireball from Falura met its face, the side wounded by my sword. It must have stung fiercely. I ran. Arrows pierced its wing. Dar-Meena was a fast shot. The Stormcloaks joined in with their bows, adding to the flurry of missiles overwhelming the dragon. It was losing strength to fight back. Delphine fired her crossbow. I fired mine and abandoned it to shed weight, taking long strides, reaching out to grasp a scaly handhold.

With a high jump I vaulted to the top of the dragon's head. There were no horns to hold on to. I had to be swift. I balanced myself and singled a spot atop the dragon's head, pulling back my skyforge steel blade to plunge.

"It's over!" I roared.

The wyrm beat its wings. I slipped.

Xehtasken fell out of my hands. By some instinct I grabbed on to the dragon's neck, legs draping off the side. My sword became smaller and smaller as the beast ascended higher with each wing stroke. I heard my name being shouted.

Then the dragon started gliding.

How long did I cling to that monster? A few seconds, perhaps. It struggled to gain altitude, taking us both back to the dragon mound. The wyrm flew at a far cry from its top speed. But this was _flight._ True flight. Wind blasting in my face, world around me in motion. My stomach lurched as the dragon turned sharply. Some manner of force pressed me against the dragon despite it flying at a tilt. I gripped tighter, trying to kick with my legs, boots scraping scales. I fought to keep from falling into the terrifying blur of land beneath my dangling tail.

At last I heaved myself up onto the beast. It had a plan.

"WULD…"

The whiplash of its Whirlwind Sprint would throw me away. I would plummet to my death. I had no weapons. I was a pest clinging to its neck. Wings spanned wide, the dragon reached the edge of the turf, overlooking the village, and pulled up.

Its plan would have worked.

"…NAH–"

If not for mine.

"…RO DAH!"

My Thu'um slammed down mightily upon the beast's head. Its upward pull became a downward plunge. The dragon crashed into a copse, impaling a pine tree in its chest, before it plowed straight into the ground and down the snowy hill. The impact threw me off to the side in a backward summersault. A massive wing brushed over me. There was a crunching of bone as the monster rammed snout-first into a rock shelf.

I slid to a stop on my back, staring up at clear skies, arms and legs spread out in the snow. A tree creaked and snapped somewhere back up the slope. Its fall filled the silence. Powdered snowflakes began settling on my nose. I think my collar bone was broken.

I laughed.

_It is not surviving that… Nothing could survive that…_

Still, feeling cynical anxiety, I hunched up to check. The dragon laid motionless, head smashed against the rocks, wings sprawled out. Blood was leaking from a broken pine trunk lodged in its torso. Dead. It was definitely dead. I resumed lying down, happily covered in cuts and bruises, casting a healing spell to ease my pain.

_Yes… This is good… This is fine… I will lay here for a while…_

The dragon was dead and the others were safe.

There was no urgency…

…

…

…

_…I smell something burning…_

I bent my eyes down as far as they would go. There were embers drifting in the breeze. The dragon's corpse was starting to combust. I closed shut my eyes and groaned.

_Kaah, __waxuuthi… I dislike this part… _

In an act not of my volition, I absorbed the dragon's soul.


	48. Arc 2 - Chapter 24

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 24 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

"Can anyone see him? Is he dead?"

Falura strained to look up the hill.

"He'd better not be," I growled. "I'll kick his ass."

It was a steep climb up the mountain slope. We saw the dragon laying in a heap and the trail of destruction behind it. Talk about a landing! It'd sent so much snow flying through the air it reached us down in Kynesgrove. The others were eager to see the dead dragon up close. I just wanted to find Chase in one piece…

"Wait! Something's happening!" Delphine exclaimed.

The dragon's body caught on fire. Bands of light and color raced across the air, just like the last time Chase killed a dragon. Everyone gawked at the show like cats on Skooma. Me? Feh… you see a dragon lose its soul once, you've seen it every time. But it did mean Chase was alive. I rushed up the hill to be the first to reach him.

That idiot Dragonborn was lying on his back in the snow, horns sunk partly into the ground, with the look of a guy trying to sleep off a hangover. What did it feel like to absorb a soul? I drew close and knelt down beside him. His dark expression went away as soon as he saw me, smiling up with that dumb smile of his. He was happy to see me. I let him know I was happy to see him too.

With an ill-tempered scowl.

"You really are trying to kill yourself," I muttered.

"Not so much kill as _get_ killed," he replied.

I gave him my shoulder and helped him stand up. He took it nice and slow. "Careful… This one is in _bad–_!" He grunted with a twinge of pain. "…bad condition..." Chase was having trouble keeping himself balanced. I let him lean on me.

"No shit!" I hissed. "What were you thinking!?"

"Many things," he said dryly.

"Care to name one!?"

Chase paused to cast a quick healing spell on his collar.

"Will that make you less angry with me?"

"No. No it won't."

"Then I see little point…"

Delphine trekked up to us, with the others close behind her. I heard one of the Stormcloaks mutter something under his breath.

"I'll be a troll's uncle… Saved by elves and lizards…"

Reinhardt rammed his elbow in the man's arm as he marched past him. "Hey_._ You callin' me an elf?" He glanced back at Falura. "No offense."

"I'll withhold comment," she said.

Everybody gathered round, giving me and Chase plenty of room. They were staring at us like a pair of freaks, waiting for the show's next act to start. _What happens now?_ I thought with a hiss. Delphine stepped in front, staring speechless at Chase.

"So you really are... I… It's true, isn't it? You're the Dragonborn…"

Chase stared back at her, tail swaying.

"I am," he said coldly.

The group stirred.

"I'll be damned," one of the Stormcloaks whispered. He had a full black beard and rough skin, with a deep scratchy voice. The other wore a hurt look on his face, nicked and damp with sweat. I think I noticed for the first time how young he was.

"Just like the legends, huh?" He sounded resentful. "Couldn't have gotten here any sooner, Dragonborn…?"

Bastard. He didn't even care that Chase had saved his life. I saw Chase's reaction, the pain in his eyes. He didn't even try to dodge that kid's stab of guilt.

"I'm sorry… I came as fast as I could…"

That Stormcloak was venting, taking a cheap shot that anyone else would've brushed aside. Chase just took it. He let himself feel shame. It was infuriating to watch. That man could be so cold and callous with a sword, but if you talked to him he'd bear his beating heart. He didn't deserve this. He needed _someone_ to stand up for him.

"You don't have to take this, Chase," I growled, shooting daggers at the Stormcloak. "Show some gratitude, asshole! You'd be dead right now if he hadn't come to save you!"

"Maybe I'd _rather_ be dead, damned scaleback!"

"Oh really!? Easy to say while you're _still alive_!"

Chase reached over and rested a hand on my chest.

"Dar-Meena, stop this. This young man has every right to be angry," he said. It took me off guard. He looked at the Stormcloak, searching him. "You have suffered loss. I see it in you…"

The kid paused, then slowly nodded. Chase hung his head.

"Please… speak their names, so I might hear them."

There was stunned silence. The kid couldn't find his tongue. Falura kept her eyes on him, while Reinhardt watched Chase with rapt attention.

The Stormcloak spoke four names.

"Runthor… Tolek. Vernir. Istlod."

His grief was plain as day. I couldn't stay mad at the kid anymore, not after that. I had too much sympathy. I was probably a little older than him when my friends were killed back in Cyrodiil. He was lucky. At least he got to play his part repaying the favor to that dragon. I still had to stew with the thought that Barnaxi was living it up somewhere out in the bigger world. But that's just how it goes. Sometimes the monsters get away.

"May their souls find peace," Chase said. He confronted the Stormcloak with a heavy gaze. "I promise you, I won't forget my shortcomings here. Should the time arise when I am needed to protect more people, I _will_ be faster."

I cast Chase a sidelong glance. _Is that really a promise you can keep?_ To be honest, I don't think that was the point of it. He was putting the kid's mind at ease, turning his anger into mourning. It was a move that seemed to satisfy everyone. I had a lot of respect for Chase after that, maybe even a little envy. I couldn't speak to people's hearts the way he could.

Reinhardt folded his arms. He was a very tall man, towering above the rest of the lineup. The corners of his eyes wrinkled as he drew a big grin.

"Heh… I've seen all I need to see," he said, eyeing his mage friend beside him. Falura held her staff close, staring dourly at Chase. I didn't like the air I was getting from her.

Delphine turned to the Stormcloaks. "Which one of you is in command?" she asked.

The older of the two came forward. "That'd be me."

"You should send someone for the villagers. They need to get back here right away. Bandits won't turn a blind eye to an empty town full of food and valuables."

The kid volunteered. The older Stormcloak let him loose. He spat on the ground and wiped his mouth, assessing the red-scaled man leaning against me.

"Dragonborn, eh?" He said. "You're a sorry sight. That dragon did you in."

Chase stole a peek at the dragon's skeleton. I grinned. _"You should see the other guy."_ Oh, I wished he would've said that.

"Mind if we borrow the inn?" Delphine asked. "We could use a place to rest."

"Long as you leave what you find," the Stormcloak grumbled. He thought about it longer, though, and gave a listless toss of his hand. "Ah, by the Nine… Forget I said that. _I'm_ in charge now. You can all eat and drink whatever you find. I'll take the guff for it. Just don't make a mess."

"We'll keep it tidy. Don't stress your head," Reinhardt said.

The newly appointed captain of Kynesgrove's guard let out a grunt.

"Off with you, then. I've got burying to do…"

He headed for the road, back to the dragon burial mound. I don't think he really cared much about the village. That man just wanted to simmer alone. Delphine walked up to us, pulling a strange black object from a pouch at her side.

"I think I have something for you." She held up the object in her hand. "Looking for the horn of Jurgen Windcaller?"

Chase and I stared blankly at it.

"This is a joke," I muttered. "Right? This has to be a joke."

"It's the real thing," Reinhardt spoke up. "We were at Ustengrav. I'll vouch for it."

Chase hissed at the woman. "Do you mean to present this as a gesture of goodwill? I am not so easily swooned with gifts."

She didn't give a rat's ass.

"You want the horn or not?"

"Tell me who you are first." He glanced at Reinhardt and Falura. "All of you."

"Let's take it to the inn," Delphine said. "We have a lot to talk about."

Chase took a deep breath in through his nose.

"A lot indeed…"

~ooooo~

The smell of burning logs clogged the air. We stoked a fire in a big stone pit and sat around it on wooden chairs. _The Braidwood Inn_, they called the place. It was ugly. The criminal responsible for those puke colored carpets deserved a noose. That and the common room could've used some better lighting. Too many dark corners and taxidermy fish.

"Ah-ha! Get a load of these pheasants!" Reinhardt beamed, walking back to the fire with a quad of dead birds. "You all sit tight, now. We're gonna eat like kings when I'm done with these beauties."

Nobody cared. The room lapsed into a gloomy hush. That Nord reminded me so much of Tsariba, only he was somehow _worse_. He had the cat's tireless enthusiasm with none of her feline charm. Reinhardt didn't seem to notice how squirmingly awkward his optimism came across. I wanted to beat him with a stick every time he opened his mouth. But of course I didn't. I just huffed and leaned on an armrest, wishing I _had_ a stick.

"I noticed a similarity between the dragon's resurrection and it losing its soul," Falura said to Delphine sitting next to her, resuming where she'd left off. "The creature came from embers and was reduced to embers. Seems to suggest a common, underlying magic between the two phenomenon."

And then there was the elf. She struck me as a combination of Mindil and Livia, minus some of their better qualities. Falura had the Altmer's genius mixed with Livia's matriarchal ego. The result was a middle-aged woman who sounded overconfident about everything. She loved magic too, if you couldn't tell by the end of her droning lectures.

Earlier, Falura explained what happened at the burial mound before me and Chase showed up. The black dragon came, caused a storm, Shouted at the dirt and made a dragon pop out. Chase didn't speak a word. All he did was heal himself, listen, nod and frown.

In other words, his head was on right. I would have checked him for a fever if he cracked a smile.

_Could these people even tell if Chase were smiling? _I wondered. _I_ could tell, but that's because I've looked in a mirror. I know on good authority what Argonian smiles look like, as opposed to almost every elf or human I've ever met. Chase and I were going to have to mind ourselves. Wouldn't want to send the wrong signals…

Reinhardt prepped the pheasants and set some water out to boil. I sniffed an earthy scent of potatoes. Delphine looked at Chase from the other side of the fire.

"You've been quiet so far," she said.

"This one wished to listen, not speak," he replied, leaning forward in his chair. He left his tail draped behind him, poking through the space beneath the seat and backrest. I kept mine in my lap. "You mentioned a map of dragon burial sites…"

"I did."

"Where, by chance, did you acquire this map?"

"You should know. You found it."

Chase unbent himself, eyes opening up.

"The Dragonstone... You are Farengar's associate."

"And you're the one he sent into Bleak Falls Barrow. Nice work, by the way."

Chase's tail swept the floor. "Think little of it. I am glad to hear my efforts bore fruit."

_What in Oblivion are these two talking about? _I got left behind somewhere in the middle of that conversation. Seemed pretty _need to know, _though, so I didn't ask any questions. Falura was just as confused as me.

"You know Farengar?" she asked Chase.

"Without the Dragonborn's help, none of us would be here," Delphine said to Falura. "Farengar sent him on an important errand, though nobody knew then he was the Dragonborn."

"It was the Jarl of Whiterun who requested my help," Chase corrected.

"Why you?" I asked.

"I happened to be available," he sighed.

More silence. Falura sat stiffly. I think Chase and Delphine were playing mind games with each other, the way their eyes would pierce across the fire pit. Reinhardt burnt his finger on a kettle, proceeding to suck on it.

You know what would've been nice? Some music. An inn without a bard should be a capital offense. I'm pretty sure I saw a lute somewhere, though I wasn't about to pick up and play it. I didn't feel like finding out how out of practice I was. Not in front of an audience.

"Alright. Who are you?" Chase finally asked. "Why have you come here?"

Delphine turned her head. "I'll let these two answer that first."

Chase met the wary eyes of the Dark Elf.

"Falura, yes?"

"Falura Telvanni Andrilo," she said in her stately voice. "I am here in Skyrim to study the dragons and their recent return."

"Study. Dragons," I muttered. "Right…"

Chase showed a flicker of discomfort when he heard Falura's full name. He shifted in his seat to try and mask it. I might've been the only one who noticed.

"Your studies have brought you here, then?" He shot a glance at the Nord cooking our meal. "And what of you? What part do you play in this?"

"Ah, don't mind me. Just a bodyguard along for the trip," he said with a grin. "Honored to finally meet you, by the way, uh… um… damn, what was that long name of yours?"

"Chases-The-Wind."

"Right, right. You go by anything else?"

"Nothing in particular."

"Mind if I call you Chases?"

"If that is what you wish. It makes no difference to this one."

"How about something else, like, uh… Wind?"

"That is… tolerable."

"_Windy?_"

Long pause.

"…Chases is fine. Please."

I took in the tall, burly Nord. _Just a bodyguard, huh?_ That sounded suspect to me. He and the elf were too friendly with each other. They obviously had some sort of history.

"We came here with this woman, Delphine," Falura said. "She predicted the dragon's resurrection."

Chase bent forward in his seat again, casting a healing spell on himself.

"Xhu. This was mentioned…"

"We know as much about her as you do, friend," Reinhardt added. "She's been nice and secretive ever since we met. Touchy, too."

"Then I will direct my questions to you," Chase said, eyeing the woman. "If you are willing to answer them…"

Delphine's demeanor softened. She was balancing her sword on the floor, tip down, palm atop the hilt. Its black sheath had a dull shine.

"Go ahead," she said. "Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back."

Chase pulled no punches. "Who are you and what do you want with me?"

"I'm part of a group that's been looking for you... someone _like_ you, for a very long time. I am one of the last members of the Blades."

"The who?" I asked.

Delphine glared at me. Well, not _at_ _me_ I guess. She looked and happened to be glaring.

"Exactly. Nobody even remembers our name these days," she said. "We used to be known across Tamriel as the protectors of the Septim Emperors. Those days are long gone, though."

That garnered looks of surprise. Chase narrowed his eyes.

"The Septims were Dragonborn," he said. "Are you confusing this one, then, with a lineage of dead emperors?"

"A very long time ago the Blades were dragon slayers," Delphine said, "and we served the Dragonborn – the _greatest _dragon slayer. We've been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do. Hundreds of years passed. But we never found one. Until now."

Chase shifted uncomfortably.

"You… are sworn to serve me?"

"That's what I just said."

"And there are others with you?"

She glanced at the fire.

"No."

"_No?_" I scoffed. "You just said you were part of _The Blades_. As in _plural_. With an s."

"If there are any more Blades alive in hiding, I don't know where they are, and I can't contact them. I'm assuming I'm on my own."

Daedra and Divines, she went for some unsettling undertones with _that_ bit of subtlety.

"You are being hunted," Chase said softly. "By who?"

"The same bastards I suspect might be bringing the dragons back. The Thalmor."

The others startled all at once.

"_The Thalmor_?" Chase exclaimed.

"That can't be!" Falura weaved her fingers together. "What makes you think the Aldmeri Dominion are involved?"

"Nothing solid. Yet," Delphine said. "But my gut tells me it can't be anybody else. Have you all heard what happened at Helgen?" Most of us nodded or said yes. Chase sat very still. "The Imperials had captured Ulfric Stormcloak. They were going to execute him there. The war was basically over. Then a dragon attacks, Ulfric _escapes,_ and the war is back on."

"Ulfric… escaped?" Chase whispered.

Delphine nodded. "Rumor has it he's back on his throne in Windhelm. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened, the Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?"

Her conspiracy theory had no resonance with me. "Could somebody please explain who the Thalmor are?" I grumbled.

Chase turned his head. "You do not know?"

"I've heard of them, okay? I just need more background."

Delphine was more than happy to share her knowledge. And her hatred.

"They're the rulers of the Aldmeri Dominion," she said. "The Thalmor take the arrogance of High Elves to the extreme. They believe they are the rightful rulers of all of Tamriel. For a century or more, the Thalmor had been picking away at the Empire. Valenwood was the first, then the province of Elsweyr."

"Then those damn elves went and started the Great War," Reinhardt growled.

"I know _that _part," I said. The Great War was only thirty years ago, though it feels like ancient history. I've seen ruins and heard stories, but I was born post-war.

Reinhardt knit his brow. "Yeah? My father died fighting in that war. Left me and my ma to fend for ourselves." He looked at Delphine, rotating our pheasants over the fire. "You _sure _the elves are behind all this?"

"You still have not told us why the Thalmor are hunting you," Chase said.

"Why?" Delphine replied. "Partly a payment for peace. Emperor Titus Mede saved his Empire at a very high price. A price that included the Blades. Our deaths were written on the White-Gold Concordat. Just another part of the Thalmor's demands, along with trampling the sacred name of Talos."

"Aye! The bastards," Reinhardt jeered. Delphine gave him a fleeting look before resuming.

"But the Blades' history with the Thalmor stretches back farther than that. When I was young, our leaders became obsessed with the Thalmor. My Grandmaster saw them as the greatest threat to both the Empire and Tamriel. We fought them in the shadows long before the Great War started. We thought we were more than a match for them. We were wrong."

Delphine rested her sword against her chair.

"They smashed us with ease. I'm one of the few who escaped."

Chase leaned back, arms folded and eyes shut.

"Hmm… It is clear you have a deep hatred for these Thalmor. You think they are responsible for this dragon calamity. I cannot help but wonder, though, if you are grasping at the wrong conclusion." His eyes opened again, set on Delphine. "Your bias against the Thalmor may be clouding your judgment."

The woman didn't sound like she agreed.

"If they aren't involved, they'll know who is," she said. "The Thalmor are still our best lead."

Chase stared at the floor. "Perhaps…"

The inn went quiet again. Suddenly my nose caught a whiff of what that Nord was cooking. I turned sharply to the plates of food being prepped by the fire.

"Gods damn, what are you making?" I said. "It smells amazing!"

"Roasted pheasant," Reinhardt proudly declared, "flavored with oil, red onions, a clove of garlic, and juniper berries crushed with black peppercorns. Served with a side of charlotte potatoes and Alto Wine."

Falura smiled in delight. "Reinhardt! You never told me you could cook like this."

The Nord laughed. "What, you didn't know? That's the first thing you're supposed to ask about when you hire muscle!"

"Reinhardt, you volunteered."

"And you _still _didn't ask! Shame, Falura!"

He brought her the first helping. The Dark Elf graciously accepted it. Delphine took hers more quietly. Chase consented to the meal, but declined the goblet of wine. "No thank you. I do not drink," he said. Reinhardt gave him a funny look, but passed on by and served me. I was damn hungry, and that food was damn good! The pheasant meat was tender and juicy and slipped right off the bone. The others were just as satisfied.

I guess a gruff looking Nord wearing steel plated armor is what passes for a chef in Skyrim.

"Hm…! This is good," Chase remarked. "Your culinary skill is impressive."

"I'll say! Who taught you?" I asked.

"Ah, that'd be my uncle Keld," the Nord said, making big gestures. "He wasn't a cook by trade, but all the folks in Helgen knew his skill. Vilod would invite him every few weeks to serve these _huge_ meals at his inn. Oh, the Homestead was a madhouse on Holidays! Keld's food would draw the biggest crowds in Falkreath Hold!"

Chase set his fork down.

"Helgen?" He spoke somberly. "Your uncle was in Helgen?"

Reinhardt gave Chase a pensive smile. "You heard it. But this ain't the time for sad stories, Argonian. I've made my peace with what happened. It's just part of the reason I'm here, now."

"I see..."

Chase went back to eating quietly. Reinhardt peered over at me with a sly smirk.

"So… the Dragonborn, eh?"

I glanced up from my food.

"Uh-huh. What about him?"

The Nord chuckled.

"Nice catch. Been together long?"

Chase forced something down his throat. He held up a hand to communicate _stop _while gagging on whatever he swallowed.

"No, no… You seem to have the wrong impression," he blurted. "She and I are–"

"It's none of your business," I said flatly.

Reinhardt raised his eyebrows. "Ah, so _that's_ the way it is." He respectfully bobbed his head, interrupting Chase before he could speak. "Say no more, say no more. I can see you're both, uh… still working things out."

I took a sip of wine. "You could say that."

The Nord was free to believe whatever he fancied about us. I really didn't care. Chase shot me a harsh look from the corner of his eye.

"Do not entertain this thought," he hissed, almost inaudibly.

I pretended to ignore him. _I'll entertain whatever thoughts I damn well please. _Sooner or later he was going to learn that.

The rest of the meal went on conversationless. We might have been eating together – we might have even _fought _together – but we were all still a bunch of strangers. This wasn't family dinner time. There were unspoken tensions all throughout the room. Everyone was still deciding who to trust.

The next person to break the silence was Chase, of all people. Our introverted Dragonborn had another question yet.

"How long have you been running from the Thalmor?" he asked Delphine.

"Most of my life. For years all I cared about was staying alive, and taking revenge on the Thalmor when I could. But then, of course, the dragons returned…"

"Mm. We may both share a thing or two in common, Delphine. Of this I am becoming quite certain."

The woman took it as a good omen, a sign that things were working in her favor. That's what I think.

"I mentioned my Grandmaster," she said. "There's something else he told us. He believed that if and when we found a Dragonborn… we would need to protect him against the Thalmor. For his sake, for all the Blades, I'm still holding to that." Delphine let those words settle in, making sure Chase was listening.

He sighed.

"A touching sentiment, but equally foolish. I am beyond your ability to protect."

"I think I can handle a few high elves and dragons," Delphine expressed with cold confidence.

"They may be among the least of your worries," he replied. "I have enemies much like yours. Powerful enemies. If you cannot destroy the Thalmor, then you will not destroy them either…"

Chase tilted his head, scarred side facing the fire.

"…or stop them."

The Nord and elf exchanged looks. Delphine wasn't intimidated in the slightest. She was a woman with steel on her bones and ice water in her veins.

"Doesn't change what needs to be done," she said. "We're going to stop these dragons together, even if we have to put every last one of them back in the ground."

"You presume I would agree to this…"

"You will. You have to."

They stared at each other for what seemed like forever. Then Chase heaved a sigh.

"Yes… I will."

I gripped my tail, eyes on Delphine. _She says she's here to serve Chase…_ _Looks more like the other way around to me._

"You're sure about this?" I said, leaning toward him.

"This woman seems honest enough," he replied, staring intently at her. "Do you have a network of associates in Skyrim? Others like Farengar?"

Delphine's smile was barely visible. "I wouldn't be alive if I didn't. Trust me. I've been doing this a long time. We'll have a better chance of stopping the dragons if we help each other."

"On that we appear to agree."

_What? Why is he so readily accepting her? He wasn't like this at all with me…_

"We need to find out what the Thalmor know about the dragons," she said. "That's our next step."

"How will we do this?" Chase asked.

"I have a few ideas… but I'll need some time to pull things together." Delphine rose from her seat. "I assume you've been to Riverwood. Meet me at the Sleeping Giant Inn. If I'm not back when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn't be long."

I supposed that meant the meeting was over. Chase stood up as the woman made for the door.

"Wait," he said, motioning toward Falura and Reinhardt. "Are these two not joining you? I thought you were together."

"More of a temporary arrangement," Falura murmured.

Delphine kept her eyes on the Dragonborn.

"Chases-The-Wind, you're the only one who's really important here. But I'll take all the help I can get." She glanced at the rest of us, the unimportant people. "Bring them along or not, it's your call. But remember… we don't want word of this getting out. The Thalmor have spies all over Skyrim. Trust no one."

Chase bowed his head. "As you say. We will meet again in Riverwood."

The Blade left our company, heading out the inn's doorway. She spoke in parting.

"Keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse."

She shut the door behind her, leaving us four together. A Nord, a Dark Elf, an Argonian, and a Dragonborn. Falura and Reinhardt stretched their legs. I stayed in my seat, arms crossed, casting an angry stare at that dumb, dragon killing man.

"Chase, this is crazy," I muttered.

He smiled at me. "Yet somehow not the craziest thing I have done today."

"Do you trust her? Really?"

"I rarely trust anyone fully. I believe she may be useful to us."

I snorted. "Oh, so we're using her then?"

He wasn't smiling anymore. "Dar-Meena. The dragons need to be stopped. Whatever it takes, we will see that they are."

The others were standing opposite us across the dying fire. If Chase was still in pain, he did a good job hiding it. He cast another healing spell. Reinhardt shifted his weight restlessly.

"Well? Spit it out," he said. "What have you got for us, Dragonborn?"

Chase's tail gave a flick.

"My words with you two will be brief. We can step outside, if you lack for air."

"That sounds fine," Falura replied quietly, picking up her staff.

"Aye," Reinhardt added with a frown. "But first thing's first. I'm not gonna clean these dishes by myself. Either of you lizards want to volunteer?"


	49. Arc 2 - Chapter 25

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ CHAPTER 25 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

The sky was bright blue, cloudless. We shuffled out into the chilly air of the mountain foot and gathered on a dusty road. I stayed at Chase's side. The ground was cold and wet with melting snow. Falura walked out the inn's doorway last, clopping along with her staff. She looked around at Kynesgrove.

"Did we really save this village? Or have we simply delayed the inevitable?" She sighed. "Their guard has been nearly wiped out… and another attack is well in the realm of likelihood. There is, after all, at least _one_ dragon that still roams the land."

"The black one, right?" I said, combing my claws through my feathers. "I still don't get it. You'd think two dragons could destroy a village together. Why'd the black dragon leave?"

"Couldn't be simpler," Reinhardt replied. "The black one's in charge. Generals don't fights on the front. They send others to fight for them."

_The dragons have a leader?_ That seemed like a scary thought. I hoped it wasn't true.

"Consider yourselves fortunate," Chase passively mentioned. "The black dragon would have slaughtered us. Its power is tremendous. I doubt even _I_ could survive another encounter."

Falura spun her head.

"You've seen it before?"

"Firsthand."

Reinhardt laughed.

"Don't get modest on us, Dragonborn," he said. "You Shouted a dragon to its death! There ain't another man alive with your kind of power. What's a lizard like you got to be afraid of?"

The Nord had a lot of fire left in him. Chase locked eyes with the warrior.

"Much. That black dragon destroyed Helgen."

Like water to a flame, Reinhardt's smile disappeared.

"…What?"

"I was there, among the precious few who escaped. Believe me when I say that the beast's power is not to be mocked. As strong as my Voice has become, the black dragon's is stronger still."

Chase could've dropped that a little more gently, if you ask me, but it was too late to regret the words. Reinhardt's cheer was gone; something quiet and vindictive took its place. He was like a different man entirely.

"You're saying… that dragon…" He pointed back to the sky. "The one that got away… _was_ the one that killed my aunt and uncle…?"

"Yes..." Chase caught something important in those words. "You knew already?"

The Nord looked at the ground, nodding to himself.

"I met someone else who survived Helgen. He mentioned a black dragon. When I saw the one here, I thought maybe…" He trailed off.

Chase nodded in understanding. He didn't like having to bring up Helgen, I could tell. Did the thought of it upset him that much? I don't know what kind of experience it'd been, but it was hard to imagine anything leaving Chase shaken.

"I am sorry you were both caught up in these events," he said. "I trust you will manage on your own from here. There is something I must ask of you, before we part."

"Hold there, we're not done yet," Reinhardt spoke up. "Delphine wasn't the only one looking for you, you know."

Chase responded coldly, as if to a threat.

"I don't take kindly those who make a point of finding me."

"Oh really? Why's that?"

"The less you know, the better."

Reinhardt took a big congested sniff and wiped his nose.

"Fair by me, but you're off to hunt dragons," he said. "Gonna be tough work for just you and the girl."

"We will manage. Your assistance is not needed."

"Now that's not the way I see it... We can help, Dragonborn. Let us come along."

Chase ignored him. "I will only say this once, so listen closely." He took a step toward the pair. "Forget this day ever happened. Speak _nothing_ of me to anyone and go on as though we never met. If you truly wish to aid me, you will do this."

Reinhardt was nonplussed. "Wha…? Why would we–"

"If you don't, the consequences will be dire."

The man depressed his brow. "What's this about? You in some kinda danger?"

"No more questions. We met as strangers and we will depart as strangers," Chase said, walking away. "Thank you for helping protect this village."

Reinhardt tried to follow after him. "H- Hey! Wait a minute!"

"Put it to rest, Reinhardt," Falura said suddenly. "We needn't prod and worsen the matter. This meeting hasn't gone the way we planned, but there are other leads we can still peruse. All is not lost."

The Nord whipped around.

"_What_!? Falura! Don't talk crazy! This is the best lead we're gonna find!"

"The Argonian has made himself clear. He does not want our company."

"But we can't just… Falura, we can't! This could be our only chance!"

"Reinhardt, _let it go. _There is no more to be said."

I watched Chase walk down the road, hesitating. The Nord and elf broke into an argument, more heated on the former's side. I jogged up to Chase and matched his speed, leaning in close to him.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"Leaving," he said.

"They just offered to help us."

"And? Does this concern you?"

"No. I just don't think we should be so quick to turn them down."

"I disagree."

"I can see that! What's your reason?"

"Something you still fail to understand," he spoke ominously. "To follow me is to follow death. Your life is as much as I am willing to risk, and even that remains in question. I won't let their ignorance lead them down a fatal path."

_What about Delphine? You didn't turn _her _down!_

"Those two can handle themselves, you saw it. They know what they're in for!"

"That does not mean they won't be harmed."

"Then maybe they will! Maybe they'll take the heat from a few dragons. So what?" I shot a quick glance back. "Better them than us, right?"

Chase snarled disapprovingly.

"Dar-Meena, that is _exactly_ why I do not want them along!"

"But–"

"THAT'S IT! I'M HAVING NONE OF THIS!"

Reinhardt's voice boomed. Chase and I jerked to a halt and turned around. Falura gave her bodyguard a wide berth as he pointed an angry finger at us.

_Oh boy…_

"You two! Lizards!" His finger bent down. "Get your scalebacked hides over here before I come and lug you by your tails! We're all gonna have a nice warm, friendly chat, and nobody's leaving till we're done!"

We stood dumbly, exchanging looks. True to his promise, Reinhardt started marching toward us. Chase's frown deepened to a scowl as he motioned me to get behind him.

"Leave us be," he said. "We have nothing to discuss."

"Yeah?" Reinhardt didn't stop. "Well I didn't come all this way for _nothing_. These dragons are destroying my homeland, and I'm not gonna sit and wait for you to slay them all! Tell me why you won't take us."

The warrior didn't get a reply.

This was bad. Chase had that death glare of his, just like I saw when I first met him in Riften. He'd draw his sword on the Nord in a heartbeat, if he was stupid enough to provoke him. Reinhardt didn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd think to hold himself in check.

"You got stones in your ears, Dragonborn? Huh?" he jeered.

Chase reached for his sword and hissed under this breath.

"I have no patience for this…"

I stepped in front of him.

"Don't you dare!" I barked back. "I know what you're thinking!"

He faltered, hand flinching off his weapon. Reinhardt came to a cautious halt.

"You," I said, stomping up to him, "back up. I want to talk to you."

The Nord didn't move. "Look here, lizard lady, I'm trying to–"

I shoved him aside into the grass. "W- Woah now! What's the matter with you!?" he stammered. I was surprised he let me push him. He might as well have been a brick wall with all that muscle. My plan wouldn't have worked if he'd stood his ground.

"Hush it, will you?" I hissed, shoving him farther. "Knowing Chase, he's probably going to hear us, but at least _try_ to keep your voice down."

The Nord was confused but sealed his mouth shut. I made sure we were far from Chase, though not so far as to make him suspicious. We stood off the side of the road in wet grass, beneath the cold shadow of a tree.

"Hear me out," I whispered. "You're going at this the wrong way."

"Eh? Whaddya mean wrong?" he whispered back.

"Chase said you couldn't come with us. You want to change his mind, don't you?"

Reinhardt frowned. "Wait… Are you helping me?"

"Yes, you idiot," I said. "I don't care about you or your mage, but I do care about _him_. Chase needs all the help he can get."

"He doesn't want our help!"

"He doesn't know what's good for him. He's not above persuasion, but read my lips – if you keep up this tough guy act, you'll be staring down the end of his sword."

Reinhardt raised an anxious brow. Chase was approaching us.

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Just don't threaten him," I hissed. "Be honest and persistent. _Especially_ persistent."

"Dar-Meena, there won't be any violence… We can talk this over amicably."

I turned around. Chase was relaxed, arms slack, tail curled at the end. I felt an inner sigh. _He didn't hear us. He thinks I'm just trying to stop a fight from happening._

"You had that look, Chase," I said. "What was I supposed to do?"

"Xhu… Apologies…"

He turned to Reinhardt and the two men made a wordless pact of peace. Falura joined us from the road. She was keeping herself absent from the goings-on, standing behind her bodyguard.

"Don't mean to make trouble," Reinhardt said to Chase, "but my friend is trying to study the dragons. And I'm… well, I'll be blunt, I'm in it to fight them. The way I see it, you're the best man to help us get what we want. We can help you in return. We're not asking for anything…"

Chase grew intense. "You do not know enough to understand _what_ you are asking."

"Then help us understand!"

"I cannot. I'm sorry. I have good reasons for turning you down. Trust that, if nothing else."

_Dammit Chase! Quit being so defensive! _He acted like we could take on the dragons all by ourselves, even though that might've been true. Chase was an amazing swordsman and a brilliant hunter. If anyone could stop the dragons, I'd stake my life on him. Reinhardt thought the same, I'm sure. He'd seen Chase at his best today.

What he hadn't seen was him at his worst.

I saw the burns on his face and I knew where he got them. They were a sobering reminder that Chase wasn't immortal. He could die, just like anyone else. Whether he liked it or not, he needed people watching his back, and it was up to us to convince him.

Reinhardt started speaking, slowly.

"At Helgen… Did you see a balding man with a big girth, bushy beard? Or a stocky old woman with long silver hair and a widow's peak? They lived in a small house on the east side of the village."

A hush settled over our gathering. _Appealing to emotion_, _huh?_ It's not what I would've tried in that Nord's shoes, but it seemed like it worked. Chase was definitely the sympathetic type.

"No," he said sullenly. "There was too much chaos. Even if I saw them, I cannot recall."

Reinhardt nodded. "Wanted to ask, thought I might as well." He paused for a moment. "You ever lost any family before, Dragonborn?"

If Chase's flash of anger was any sign, he did _not_ like that question.

"I choose not to dwell on the dead. My thoughts are of those still alive."

"Aye. I know what kind of man you are, Dragonborn, even if you don't show it. You're noble. You put others before yourself."

"Enough. Is this all you wished to say?"

_Persistent! _I shouted in my head. _Be persistent!_

"Delphine said you're the only one who matters," Reinhardt mused. "Think she was wrong about that?"

"It is not my concern what she thinks of me," Chase replied.

"Shor's bones, man, you're _Dragonborn_! Show a little pride!" Reinhardt made sweeping gestures with his hand. "Tamriel hasn't seen someone like you since the third era! Dragonslaying's in your blood! That's why you matter! You've come to Skyrim at the time of the dragons' return. Only the gods could've planned a thing like this."

Funny. I didn't peg Reinhardt for a religious man. Chase made a clicking sound in his throat, resting an idle hand on the pommel of his sword.

"You think a higher power has dictated my arrival? True or not, what difference does this make? Am I essential to stopping them?"

The Nord shrugged. "You'll make stopping them easier."

"Hence the reason I am choosing to fight. This conversation has no point."

"But if you die… what happens then?"

Chase grimaced. "The people of Tamriel will continue to fight dragons, with or without me," he said.

This was it. Reinhardt found a wedge. What he needed was a hammer.

"So it's okay if you get killed," I snapped, "and leave the dragons for everyone else to deal with?"

Silence.

"I will not die," Chase growled. "Even if I do, your gods can always send another."

Reinhardt turned up his nose and put his fists on his hip. "And if they don't?"

"The races of men," Falura softly interjected, "were enslaved by the dragons in the Merethic Era. If given the opportunity to do so again…"

She picked a good time to finally say something. Chase had begun to crack.

"The Greybeards themselves could not say if I was the only one!" he hissed.

"Well then," Reinhardt said, "you a betting man, Dragonborn?"

Chase was simmering. Delphine had the right idea after all. If the dragons were a game, then he was the most valuable piece on our side of the board. Every dragon he didn't kill had the power to devastate a city. Would Whiterun or Kynesgrove still be standing if he hadn't fought for them?

"Admit it. If you die, a lot of people are going to die with you," I said, averting his eyes. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but… what's risking the three of us compared to risking hundreds or thousands?"

"No one should have to risk their life for someone like me," he spoke softly.

"Don't say that! Chase, you're not invincible! You're going up against dragons, assassins and gods know what else!"

Reinhardt jumped. "Assassins!?" He turned sharply to Chase. "Ysmir, you've got assassins after you!?"

"Not just any assassins," I muttered. "The Dark Brotherhood."

The Nord had to keep his eyes from bulging out.

"Well then, that settles it! You need protection!" He thumped a fist to his heart. "No assassin's gonna put a knife in your back, not as long as I'm still breathing!"

"The knife will be in _your back_, first!" Chase suddenly roared.

The Nord and elf startled. His teeth were bared in rage, claws opened and taut. He looked ready to grab the person nearest by their shoulders and shake them. I backed away from him, eyes widening.

"You are all fools! You know nothing of my enemies! I traveled here from the southern provinces to _hide from them_! The Dark Brotherhood are dull blades! They are _nothing_! Do you know how many assassinations I've survived!? I sleep with my eyes open now as I have for the last _ten years of my life_! The ones who seek my death are relentless! And if they discover that you've allied with me…!"

Chase was shaking, his voice hoarse and desperate.

"If all of you – _all of you _– choose to stand at my side, they will hunt you as they have hunted me long after the dragons are done! Your deaths will be written with mine! That is the price you'll pay! _Is this what you want_!?"

No one answered him.

Reinhardt stared at the grass. Falura leaned on her staff.

Chase looked at me. I didn't look away.

He only gave a glimpse, a faint picture of his life before Skyrim, but it was enough to make me shudder. It wasn't so much the words he spoke as it was the way he spoke them. Chase had… _that_… bottled up inside him all this time. I think I understood why he tried so hard to scare me away. It wasn't because he thought fear would work. The fear was already his.

He was afraid… and he wanted us to be afraid too.

The stillness dragged on.

Then Falura came forward.

"This isn't about what we want," she said solemnly, almost with regret. "This is about what needs to be. The dragons are a threat to every province in Tamriel, not merely Skyrim. You may be the key to stopping them. Whatever the cost… we must ensure you survive."

Chase's shoulders fell in defeat. After this and the fight against the dragon, he was drained physically and emotionally. He'd had enough. Reinhardt took a step closer to him.

"Dragonborn. You still with us?"

He glared and didn't look up. "You know the cost now… If this is truly the river you wish to swim, I will not stop any of you…"

"Nothing's set in stone," the warrior said stoutly. "We could all die by the end of this, but who's to say? It's victory or Sovngarde. Let the bastards try and take us – dragons, assassins and all."

Chase didn't reply. He just stared at him. Falura came beside Reinhardt, studying the Argonian with sharp red eyes.

"Chases-The-Wind," she said, "if you're serious about what you say, I think we deserve to know what enemies we will be making by assisting you."

He shook his head. "The less I tell you, the more you will be able to claim ignorance in your defense. That could save your lives someday. They must not know that you've chosen to help me willingly."

_Whoever _they_ are, _I thought with a shiver. I almost didn't need to know who they were. If they troubled Chase this much, I wasn't about to fare any better. He looked at me with a twinge of sadness. I was surprised at how sad I felt back for him. Had we really only known each other for a few weeks?

"Do not waste your life on this one, Dar-Meena," he said softly. "Please. I would never blame you. You can choose to walk away."

I grumbled.

"You're making it tempting, Chase… but I'm still with you."

I'd made up my mind. I wouldn't turn my back on him. He was my friend.

It would be the four of us together from here on, for better or worse. Chase brooded quietly to himself, shutting out the world. We waited. After he finished having his moment, he cast another healing spell and adjusted his knapsack.

"We should depart," he said emotionlessly. "The sun is setting. Delphine will be waiting for us in Riverwood."

He picked up his feet and started walking, expecting us to follow him. That Argonian didn't waste time. I had a question, though.

"Um… Chase…?"

"Hm? What is it?"

"Where's Riverwood?"

"It's near Whiterun Hold," Reinhardt said.

"Can you show it on a map?" I asked.

He did. The village was miles away. I could already feel my aching soles.

"Chase. No. We can't make a trip this lengthy," I griped. "We need supplies. Food, arrows, potions…"

"Aye. Gotta get me a new sword, too," Reinhardt added. "A good one."

"Where will you find the gold for it?" Falura asked him, suspicious.

"I, uh… was kinda hoping you could spot me," he replied sheepishly.

The mage rolled her eyes. "I'm not a treasury, Reinhardt. I spent almost all that I had hiring your friends back at Whiterun."

"Oh, right… I forgot about that…"

"Go grab some bones off the dragon," I snarked. "They've got to be worth something. We'll sell them and fetch some coin."

"Merchants will sooner dismiss them as the bones of any other large animal," Falura said with a scoff. "The few bones that are unmistakably dragon would be too heavy for even beasts of burden to carry."

I hissed. "Dammit… Then… let's find that tail that got chopped off! Maybe it didn't burn up with the rest of the body. I _know_ I could pawn _dragon scales_ easy."

"Yes, of course," Chase groaned, rubbing his snout. "These are all matters we can settle. Let's wait until the villagers return and do our trading here."

Falura and I peered off at the scanty thatch buildings of Kynesgrove. The village had maybe _one_ general goods store, if we were lucky. Reinhardt cleared his throat.

"Or we could go to Windhelm," he suggested. "It's north up the road, not even a day's walk. Better trading in a bigger city, eh?"

Chase slowly turned his head, shooting a murderous glare.

"_Must we…_?"

"It seems the better option," Falura said.

I liked it too. It gave me some ideas.

"Three to one, Chase," I chirped with a grin. "You lose."

The Dragonborn growled.

* * *

_Reinhardt_

* * *

Right then! It was off to Windhelm with us! The Nords there were in for something special. It's not every day your city gets visited by a living breathing Dragonborn, eh?

_Chases-The-Wind._ I'd met him at last. I didn't know too much about Argonians – they always seemed a mystery to me. Never even heard of 'em growing up! Wasn't till I went to Cyrodiil that I had my first run-in with the lizard folk. There was only one I ever spoke to, a fellow by the name Long-Neck or something. He was a regular at Julia's inn, liked to spend long evenings drinking alone. I might've talked to him once or twice while I was the bouncer. Can't remember what about.

But Chases? Oh ho… I'd heard stories of the Dragonborn as a young lad, you know. He was _better_ than the stories. When I saw him Shout that dragon out of the sky, I knew we weren't dealing with any ordinary lizard. This was a legend in the making.

Right gloomy, though, that man. I'd have to figure out what cheered him up, 'cause whatever it was he needed it.

* * *

_Falura_

* * *

_Fredas, 12th of Hearthfire 4E 201_

It was true after all. The Dragonborn was Argonian.

Terrible…

Reinhardt wouldn't realize what this meant. Neither would the girl, Dar-Meena. I was the only living soul who could see with clear eyes the slumbering nightmare we had consigned to accompany.

Did the Dragonborn suspect anything? He must have, surely! His accent… _Black Marsh. _There was no mistaking it. Was he allied with _them_, the An-Xileel? Oh, but that didn't matter… His morals and allegiances were irrelevant. He was native-born, which meant he had the link.

His soul was bound to those damnable trees.

I would speak to Reinhardt at the earliest chance. He was the one man I could confide in, though I worried he wouldn't understand. This wasn't really his problem. It was all conjecture, suspicion – a potential threat purely to the Dunmer of Morrowind.

No. Not _potential_. The threat was real and I knew it. I knew it all too well.

In my distress I almost prayed to The Three. What foolishness. They didn't listen to the prayers of my people anymore. This Argonian abomination was proof of that.

* * *

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

I was beginning to presume that in a previous life I had been an oppressive slum lord. I funded my syndicate with drug-addicted clientele, corrupted law and order, and killed baby animals for pleasure in my spare time. Nothing else could explain my predicament.

Xhuth… I dislike my own humor…

As the evening progressed, I continued to display hatchling behavior far beneath me. That is, I sulked. Of all the things I value in life, my autonomy would be high on the list. Yet I found myself being suddenly steered by the demands a group. No longer could I dictate my own course or drift where the currents took me. I may as well have been put in shackles.

Do not mistake me – I did not resent the others. Whatever anger I had was toward my circumstances.

None of them could comprehend the An-Xileel's tenacity. Did they think I made my warnings idly? I spoke from painful experience. They thought they were above my curse, but they would succumb to it like all the others. No one close to me ever prospered in the end. That was not the way my life worked.

Nothing ever changed.

_But… this time… something _has _changed…_

My Voice. The power of my Thu'um. If I continued to grow stronger and master my abilities as Dragonborn, could I break my curse? Was this the answer? I intended to find out. I would continue to nurture my power and let the dragons be the first to taste it.

As for Reinhardt, Falura… and Dar-Meena…

To these three I swore a silent oath of protection.

Of anyone who sought to harm them, I would spare the yielding…

...and kill the rest.


	50. Arc 2 - Epilogue

**Arc 2 - The Fates of Heroes**

**~ EPILOGUE ~**

_Darasken_

* * *

Pine trees choked the sun's light. We were alone in the shade of a dense forest, surrounded by bickering wildlife and a throng of greenery. Dead needles lay at our feet above a layer of loamy soil. The frigid cold was unkind. Our scales did not approve.

We stared at the brass colored locket in our hand, its inner glass pane cracked. A face would have been visible through it. The vocal enchantments, however, still functioned. The ancient Dwemer contraption was useful, even in a broken state.

"_This is disturbing,_" a voice spoke through the locket. "_What else have you learned?_"

"Nothing of import," this one replied. "No live dragons have been encountered yet, but we shall continue to assess their threat."

"_Do this._ _We will remain vigilant for sightings here as well._"

The dragons were a disturbing development, one that needed to be monitored. The An-Xileel in Black Marsh would watch for signs of the great winged beasts. We felt some pride, knowing our people would be safer with the knowledge we were able to acquire. Yet pride had a companion. Disquiet. Many things still troubled us.

"Arch-Warden, this rumor… if it is true…"

"_Our scholars will investigate. You have chosen to place complete faith in this so called contact of yours. You worry us, Darasken._"

"The letter was specific."

"_A red Argonian, no further description. You call this specific?_"

"It is the deeper implication. A red Argonian… capable of _slaying_ one of these dragons? Very specific, this one thinks."

What Lukiul would possess the skill and cunning to fight such a being? It had to have been Okan-Zeeus. The traitor's blade was still sharp. We expected no less from a once legendary assassin. He may have even surpassed the strength of his youth.

With nothing left to report, the Arch-Warden imparted to us names and their locations in the province of Skyrim. We committed them to memory. They were few, but they could be contacted. The An-Xileel had wisely planted sleeper agents in the north. We were to awake them from their slumber. Okan-Zeeus would soon have fewer places to hide.

"Send the bird back. We will need it to spread word. Our allies must learn of the traitor's presence in Skyrim."

"_It will be done. We look forward to seeing your progress when next we speak._"

The moment had come to cease communication. However…

"Arch-Warden… Deerkaza…"

"_Yes?_"

"What would motivate the traitor to save a city?"

"_His motives may be beyond our understanding now. We can speak no more. The Organism waits for us. Remain focused, Darasken… May the Hist guide you._"

We erected the spine of submission.

"May the Hist guide us all."

The Arch-Warden's voice was gone. Sounds in the background were heard before the bird switched off – croaks of frogs and hackwing caws. Creatures of Helstrom. We closed the locket and once again felt a longing for home. Skyrim was no place for our kind. But we were resolute. We would return to our marshlands with the traitor's head… and all would be right again.

Our eyes bent to the sun. Its light shone through tree branches lower than last we saw. Evening was approaching. The others would grow suspicious if we lingered any longer.

_The chase resumes…_

We quickly cast an invisibility spell and returned to the village called Riverwood.

Nicolard was standing by himself at the edge of a river, next to a dry wooden dock with shingled roofing. There were few footprints in the wet gravel. While some pace in their thoughts, the spellsword preferred standing still. The hiss of rapids further upstream tantalized our ears. We had been near them back in the forest.

We approached Nicolard, who turned around as our shadow met him half way.

"Where've you been, Darasken?" he asked, irritated.

"Off gathering information. We wonder why you are not doing this yourself."

"The others have it covered."

"Xhu… You are a model of leadership."

Nicolard grunted with a smirk. He found our comment humorous, though it was not intended to be.

"They're better at it," he said. "I'd make too big a mess."

We would not contest that remark. Our boots sank in the gravel beside him. The rest of our body was wrapped in a warm grey cloak, from our head to our ankles.

"This one still questions whether the traitor would have come to this village," we said. "He could have passed this place traveling by river. Water transit is faster for our kind than walking."

The Breton uttered no response. He regarded us with antipathy.

"…Why do you stare? Does our presence bother?"

"You're a lucky lizard," he said, his tone growing cold. "The others have gotten used to you. But not me. You aren't one of us, Daraksen."

"If there is subtext to your words, speak it and be done."

"Don't play games. If you're up to something, I'll find out what it is. You'd best come clean while I'm still in a good mood."

Empty threats. The man would not harm us so long as his precious gold hung at stake. Of the four mercenaries, however, Nicolard had the wildest temper. It made him violent. Dangerous.

"Remember your contract," we hissed.

"Please. I'm a professional," he said with a contemptuous smirk. "I'll make sure your clock's still ticking when we send you back to Black Marsh." The man flicked a spark of fire between his fingers. "Your ambassadors won't mind a few scrapes and burns."

"You boast, spellsword," we hissed. "Attack us and see if you survive the battle."

He made a point of showing the pale blue glow of a spell in his left hand. Dispel. We knew he could cast it, and he knew that we knew. It made his smirk repellent.

"Your magic isn't any good against me. Maybe if you carried a real sword, you'd stand half a chance." He chuckled and faced the river. "Lucky for you, I like getting paid."

We withheld further words. There would be no underestimating this man. Nicolard was deadly, as the rest of the mercenaries were. The agreed upon sum for their service had outstripped even the traitor's bounty. Their reputation, however, preceded them. They were purportedly worth the price.

"We are not here to undermine your efforts," this one insisted. "We wish to see you succeed."

Nicolard folded his arms. "I'll believe that when we find Okan-Zeeus."

The spellsword did not have to _believe_ anything. Our words were true. We wished to assist him and his cohorts in their commission. It was a privilege.

The An-Xileel could have sent another, one less qualified. We entreated our leaders, implored them for the chance to travel with these mercenaries. This one had never contemplated thoughts of revenge, yet as we faced the prospect it became… enticing. Were we not skilled enough, now? Could we not track the traitor down? It was ironic. Okan-Zeeus had been our motivation to become an agent of the people. We wished to see Black Marsh's enemies destroyed and the province kept safe. But the traitor always seemed too lofty for us, an adversary beyond our small reach.

He had become so close now. We were fated to meet again. Okan-Zeeus would regret having spared our life.

Another shadow crept up behind us. Nicolard and I glanced back to see Ugrash coming to join us by the water. A strong wind blew. The orc woman had a scowl to trump all scowls. She was a picture of abhorrence, loathing personified.

"You're glowing, Ugrash," Nicolard said. "Enjoying your revisit to Skyrim?"

"The cold," she muttered.

"What about it?"

"The last reason I left. The first thing I remember."

Nicolard laughed. It had indeed been an unusually cold day, indifferent to the sun. Ugrash did not appreciate returning to the land of her birth. The reasons for this were not fully known, though mentions of a 'chief' and 'third wife' had been tossed in conversation. Orc settlements were common in Skyrim; tribal groups living on the fringes of Nord society. We suspected she left one such settlement over disagreements of tradition.

"What have you learned?" we asked the orc.

"Nothing I feel like sharing."

"So nothing at all, in other words," Nicolard said. Ugrash let out a huff and the spellsword smiled. "We're still on his trail. The bastard thought he had us duped. Afareen'll find something."

The Breton would never admit that it was _our_ display of tenacity in the Imperial City that had brought us all to Skyrim. He and the others would have given up if not for this one. No efforts on our part, however, seemed to gain the trust of these killers for hire.

A fourth shadow appeared. Afareen. We were pleased to see her. Nicolard and Ugrash were poor company.

"Where is J'Kar?" we asked. "He is not with you."

Afareen glanced back and shrugged, indicating she did not know but that J'Kar was still in the village. He had a tendency to go out on his own and cause mischief. The other mercenaries had nothing against this, so long as the Khajiit did not incur the wrath of the law. We were under the impression that his record was improving.

Nicolard watched the Redgaurd keenly as she came to the water's edge alongside us. Her expression appeared unusually still. Calm and detached.

"Ahhh… I know that face," the spellsword said with a sly grin. "What did you find?"

"There's a man at the inn with a broken leg," Afareen replied. "He knows something."

"Wouldn't talk?"

"Silent as a mouse."

Ugrash snorted. "We should just beat it out of him."

Afareen frowned at the orc. "Do we have to? He didn't seem so bad."

Nicolard's grin broadened. "Must've been a charmer. Finally found your better?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" the Redguard sneered.

"Do not let emotion blind you," we growled. "Whoever this man is, he is no innocent. To protect a traitor and mass murderer… is an act deserving of due penalty."

A violent interrogation would be an act of mercy by compare. The two mercenaries turned to their leader. Nicolard straightened his back and cast another spark between his fingers.

"No choice?"

Afareen shook her head. "He's a fighter. It'll be messy."

A slight evil for a greater good. The spellsword resigned.

"If he dies, it's on you," he said. "Make it look like an accident. We don't want the guards breathing down our necks."

* * *

**Thank you all for joining me through the story thus far!**

**Arc 3 is currently being outlined, though I won't begin working on it for a few months. I'm going to shift my focus in the meantime to other projects. Check out Dragon of the East at _Tamriel Tales _for the latest updates. It is the main site where I post this story.**


	51. Arc 3 - Prologue

**Arc 3 - A Stab in the Dark**

**~ PROLOGUE ~**

_Okan-Zeeus_

* * *

**_Ten years ago…_**

Strong winds blew in my eyes. I knelt crouched in the shallows of a bog, hidden among cattails and tall grass. Thick dark clouds drifted fast overhead, swallowing the evening sun. A great storm would soon arrive; perfect cover for assassins and their work.

_A storm… A storm would be useful… _

"What are your thoughts, Okan?" a voice whispered beside me.

_Yes… Rain to hamper sight, noise to muffle movement. Milah would be easier to conceal. And should our child emerge from its egg… I have never seen a hatchling cry in the rain. A storm would be a blessing._

"Okan?"

_One more week…_

"Okan-Zeeus!"

I snapped out of my trance and turned to the voice. Ixtha-Kai's red eyes were like two glistening moons, staring through me. He was an Argonian of narrow face and broad shoulder, skin covered in white and black-speckled scales.

"It looks like we have _two_ storm clouds brewing, Zol," he said.

Zollassa leaned over Kai's shoulder. "Okan, what is stealing your focus?"

I snarled softly and faced the wind again.

"Forgive me. Many things on my mind. I will block out the noise."

A thatch hut stood in the middle of the swamp, boxlike and double-decked, raised above the water on wooden legs. There was a Naga on the outer walkway, armed but not armored, the closest thing to a threat. The snake-like man watched the skies, unwary of the three hooded assassins in dark-green jerkins, watching him.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" Zollassa asked me. A silvery rustle of rain began to fall.

I retorted with a scowl. "We're killing noncombatants, not the king of Black Marsh."

"You're unfocused," Kai said. "Take a rest, brother. Stay with Zol. I can clear the building alone."

"I'm not inept," I hissed. "We'll continue as planned."

Kai's eyes left me and set toward the hut. He knew I had a child on the way. To him, perhaps, I was simply an anxious father-to-be, filled with distractions.

"Egg-siblings look after each other," he said.

I sighed. Kai and Zol were not my egg-siblings, but they may as well have been. I knew them better than any other soul in these marshlands. We were killers trained and raised together, deadly in skill and strong in trust. Those who heard our name embraced the void.

We were the Zanxhu-Loh, loyal elites to the An-Xileel.

Or rather… _they _were loyal.

_One more week…_

As the pouring rain became a roar of noise, Kai and I slithered into the murky swamp and swam for our marks. Zol remained on watch outside the premises. My task was to clear the main floor, while Kai would take the upper level. Our targets were conspirators in the Organism assassinations, members of a now known traitor organization. We expected little resistance, a job strictly by the numbers.

Sounds of thunder rumbled in the distance. The Naga remained outside, unbothered by the ferocious weather breaking over. Sliding through the mire like an eel, I stopped at the walkway on the other side of the hut and climbed up onto its wooden deck, showered by the rain. As I rounded a corner, I barely heard the splash as the Naga fell into the swamp. Zol's bow killed surely, even in a thunderstorm.

I approached the door, hearing footsteps creak inside. Someone was about to open it. I reached for one of my swords and drew it with care, breathing slowly, evenly.

_Let this be over quick…_

A mud-brown Argonian stepped into the doorway. He was aged with a round head, skin toughened beneath his chin. I could sense nervous tension behind a masking air of calm. Callouses on his fingers bespoke a man who worked with his hands. Was he a farmer? A retired soldier? He called the name of the Naga, to have him come inside. I stood up.

The man turned and saw me through the rain with an icy look of terror.

"The An-Xileel demand your deaths," I declared. My blade pierced his heart.

I threw the dead Argonian into the hut. He landed on the wood floor with a loud wallop. There were three others inside the scantly lit room. They scattered, knocking over furniture as they jumped to their feet and ran for windows. A throwing knife from my belt met the throat of a woman trying to escape. She collapsed against a wall, grasping at the metal protruding from her neck. Another man shouted something and grabbed a spear sitting atop a mantle.

He was not trained in the weapon's use; I could see it the moment he tried to stab me. I stepped aside and swept my sword in a rising arc through the spear, severing the tip. A worn wooden shaft against a blade of quicksilver? There was never any contest. I knocked away another futile blow from the broken shaft and swung hard. The man fell headless.

The last Argonian managed to flee through a window. An arrow from Zol's bow met him as he tried to jump into the water. I heard no swimming, only the rain.

There were more sounds of a struggle upstairs, shoes thumping on wood. I stepped over the headless body at my feet. Blood leaked through cracks in the floor into the sloshing swamp. The woman with the knife in her throat was still dying, lying on her belly. A flash of lightning flickered through the windows. As I stepped toward her, she gasped for a breath that refused to come. Her hand reached out and grabbed the closest thing in her reach. Blood smeared my ankle.

"Please… No…"

I plunged my sword down through the woman's chest, point stopping on wood. My hands clutched the pommel in a white-knuckle grip. I took one last look into her eyes and shut mine, trying to banish the image from my mind. As always, I could not. Her face would join the rest in my nightmares.

"Find peace in your next life," I whispered. Plucking up my blade, I stopped and stared at the carnage.

Some assassins take pleasure in their work. They give themselves over to the thrill of killing, becoming little more than savages, creatures craving flesh and blood. Others, as I, try to hold on to the reasons why we kill. In this vocation, where every deed grabs hold to rend apart your sanity, you have to separate who you are from the things you do.

I have never been good at that.

There was a sudden scrape, the sound of something heavy being pushed on the floor. I spun around. It had come from a small storage room filled with barrels. Behind one, I glimpsed the tip of a tail receding. It was small. Something twisted in my chest.

_A hatchling…_

Slowly I crept into the crowded room. The walls of the hut seemed to shift and moan like a creature in pain as storm winds blew against it. I cast aside one of the barrels with a forceful shove, spilling dried fruit on the floor. A young Argonian boy shriveled back with a yelp.

The hatchling wore ragged clothes, covering the grey scales of his legs and chest. A mop of black spines dressed his head, green eyes wide and terrified. I glared down at him, clutching my sword.

_Why must it always be a child? _

I hated everything that I was. I hated the killing, I hated the An-Xileel, I hated their sense of justice. Yet I still followed orders. Even in these days, as I plotted my desertion, I did as I was told.

_I can't protect him. Kai and Zol would never be so lenient. If he tried to escape, they would catch him. And if they discovered I let him go… Xhuth!_

My anger rose as I battled my mind.

_What have these people truly done to deserve death? _

It lashed widely at anything and everything, even the hatchling.

_Why couldn't you stay hidden from me!? Why are you making me do this!?_

"Okan-Zeeus!" Kai suddenly spoke from a ladder further back. "Have you cleared the floor?"

I gazed long and hard at the quailing, confused hatchling. More thunder rumbled.

"Yes," I called in reply.

"Come then. There's something up here you should see."

Slowly I sheathed my blade. _You get one chance,_ I thought to the boy. _If the others find you, you're dead. _I walked out of the room, glancing back one last time. The hatchling's demeanor had suddenly changed. What did I see in his eyes? It looked like hatred.

I climbed a ladder to the upper floor of the hut, where Kai was waiting. The room above appeared to be a study. There were baskets and bowls filled with alchemy ingredients, alongside an impressively large laboratory. Acidic scents rose from the equipment.

Ixtha-Kai walked up beside me. He motioned to a miniature tree at the back of the room, sitting on a table in a pot of soil. It had a thick rounded trunk and slender leaves growing on its tiny branches. The tree was near a window, slid to the side out of view, while raindrops battered against the shutter. More lightning flashed.

I could not bring myself to approach the tree. The shock was too great.

"Is that… a _Hist_?" I whispered.

"A Hist sapling," Kai spoke quietly. "Sithis only knows how they got it."

"What the Iyorth is it doing here?"

"They were experimenting on it." Kai pointed to an elderly Argonian lying dead on the floor. "He had notes, but he burned them to ash before I could stop him. Whatever they were doing here, the knowledge is lost to us."

I hissed, glancing about the room. "Xhuth. We shouldn't have been so quick to kill these people."

"Okur himself gave the order. It's not our problem."

"You say that so easily…"

Mahei-Ru would never have sent us to kill these traitors; he would have wanted them captured. He and Okur always seemed at odds with each other, as far as their methods were concerned. Were they not working together toward the same goal? The safety and prosperity of Black Marsh? If the Saxhleel knew the truth about their leaders, perhaps they would not place so much faith in them.

But I exaggerate. We were only one arm of the An-Xileel; a small branch, still trying to grow. The An-Xileel planted our seed almost fifteen years ago, placing an Ambassador and an Arch-Warden in charge of rearing a new generation of assassins.

My eyes fell to the Hist and I thought of the hatchling. Would he know something? I almost went to see if he was still below. I took a careless step toward the ladder, then snapped to my senses.

_Fool. You're planning to leave Black Marsh. Let the An-Xileel sort this mess. _I felt morose in spite of myself. Had my sense of duty to the Saxhleel been so weak all along? Or had it simply corroded away over time? My calling was horrible, atrocious. Yet I fought this for as long as I could, on the hope an assassin could still have honor in this world.

It was Milah who finally changed that. She changed everything.

"How many were downstairs?" Kai asked.

"Four," I lied. "Three men and a woman."

Kai's tail hung still as he studied me.

"Was there something about them…?"

"Tend to the Hist," I said. "I'll retrieve the heads this time."

"Okan, your scales look ashen."

"Then it is a trick of the light."

Kai reached out to me as I turned around, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"Brother, I am not one you need be withdrawn toward. Is it your family? What troubles you?"

I hesitated, trying to conceal a hunted look. The walls of the hut continued to moan. "Do you ever ask yourself," I said, "what this is all for?"

Kai replied, after some thought. "Every day."

"And have you found the answer?"

"The answer is peace, Okan. You know that."

My eyes narrowed. "Killing in the shadows of our own marshlands… No reasons given… Not a single trial or hearing… How does this bring us peace?"

"Peace for the Saxhleel. _We_ aren't meant to know it. Our lives serve a different purpose."

Kai answered the question he thought I had asked. His words sounded foreign for a man I knew as a hatchling. It struck me how little he and I spoke together like this, as if side-by-side was a chasm too wide for voices to travel. We used to be closer, swimming along the same river, yet somehow it felt as if we ended in different places.

"The An-Xileel demand too much of us," I whispered.

"Our people need our strength for protection, against enemies within and without. Whatever happens, we must not fail them."

My eyes drifted to the dead man on the floor.

"Did we fail these people?" I asked.

Silence. I walked to the ladder.

"Yes," Kai finally said. "We did."

Back down on the main floor, I stepped over to the body of the woman and knelt beside it, drawing my sword. Once you smell the stench of death, you never forget it. I often let Kai or Zol handle cleanup, though head collecting was far from my least favorite task, if that were anything worth cheerfully mentioning. I saw that Kai had not followed behind me. With hesitation, I peered inside the storage room, almost afraid of what I would find.

The hatchling was gone. One of the floorboards was missing, revealing a murky churn of mire below. I stared at it.

Rain to hamper sight, noise to muffle movement.

_Incredible_, I thought._ The storm might have saved him._

His life was in his own hands, now. There was nothing more I could do. I returned to the bodies, trying to distract myself as I did my bloody work.

_One more week…_


	52. Arc 3 - Chapter 1

**Arc 3 - A Stab in the Dark**

**~ CHAPTER 1 ~**

_Reinhardt_

* * *

Windhelm's an old city, I can tell you that. A jewel of stone buried in snow. I whistled at the sight from across the icy River Yorgrim. The Jarl's castle rivaled the size of Dragonsreach, standing in the shadow of a mountain. It's a remnant of the Kingdom of Skyrim, founded by the 13th descendant of Ysgramor. Unless that commemorative plaque I'd read was lying.

"The Palace of the Kings," I announced, beaming in the afternoon sun. "Ysmir, I've always wanted to see it!"

A breeze blew by. Falura drew her coat in tight.

"Yes, it certainly seems… grand," she said dryly. The woman was bundled up comfortably on her horse. Mine had, uh, bolted off back at Kynesgrove. Bit of bad luck, that. Falura got the privilege of an easy trip to Windhelm, while the rest of us hoofed it.

"Aye, it's ancient alright," I said. "This was where it all began. The first realm of man in Tamriel!"

Dar-Meena shivered, blowing into her hands. "Great. Can we get inside the walls now? My tail's ready to break off like an icicle." Chases didn't speak. He just stretched his hood down, pretending we didn't notice him standing against the wind.

Pfff. This lot couldn't take a few chilly little squalls. Oh, in a couple of months they'd be _wishing_ for this kind of weather. Winter takes on a whole 'nother meaning in Skyrim! Falura went to leave her horse with a stable master and stopped to chat with him; I think they'd met already. The rest of us waited at the mouth of the bridge to Windhelm.

"We decided how long we're gonna stay here yet?" I asked.

"Till tomorrow morning. No longer," the Dragonborn said, leaning back against the cold stone archway. "We need to get on the road to Riverwood as soon as possible."

I supposed that was fair. We didn't want to keep Delphine waiting on us. Speakin' for the others, of course; I could've tolerated a few more days away from her. Falura came back from the stables and we all started for the city.

Except for Chases.

"This way, Dragonborn," I said, waving along. "Gate's across the river."

"You three go on ahead," he replied.

The ladies stopped. I raised an eyebrow.

"You're not coming with us?"

"No."

"Well why in Arkay's name not?"

"To leave fewer witnesses… among other things. I am not what you would call a city person."

"Just let him do what he wants," Dar-Meena griped, antsy feet shuffling toward the bridge. "Can we get where it's warm already?" Falura and I traded looks.

"Let's make it official," Chases said. "We will meet at this spot tomorrow morning. Anyone who isn't here by noon gets left behind. You can all do as you please until then."

That was that, since nobody voiced any naysays. The Dragonborn was in a stiff mood. Dar-Meena eagerly led the way, but not before trotting back to bid Chases farewell.

"Hey," she said. "Don't freeze to death out here. Find someplace warm."

He nodded. "I'll manage."

We walked across the bridge. Down below to our right, a ship was anchored in the river. Argonians were unloading boxes of cargo onto the docks, while sailors scuttled on deck. Windhelm's seaport's a cute little thing compared to the one in, say, Solitude. But with the war going on I'd wager the Stormcloaks were happy to get their hands on _any _stock of sea goods.

This was the heart of the Stormcloak campaign. We entered the gates of Windhelm and beheld the city in white, tall walls dividing the streets, chimney stalks billowing smoke. Beggars were warming up by a fire pit at the front steps of an inn, wrapped in shabby blankets. Dar-Meena didn't mind their stench. She went right up and started warming her tail.

The beggars left to find another fire.

"Walls are such a wonderful invention," Falura proclaimed with a smile, strolling up to the flames. "I can't feel the wind anymore."

"Walls are nice," said the lizard lady, "but fire's better."

I joined the women and toasted my mitts. Passersby were few and far between. Windhelm seemed to get by just fine, despite the lack of Imperial law; folks weren't off raiding homes and burning buildings in a fit of anarchy. These Nords could manage their own government. Short of any Imperials or Thalmor snooping around, Talos worship was alive and well, which made Windhelm a haven for the faithful. I saw more than a couple amulets to the Ninth Divine worn openly.

"You know why the Dragonborn stayed back out there?" I asked Dar-Meena.

"He told you, didn't he?" she muttered. "I'm not his keeper. Chase does what he wants."

"So we've noticed," Falura added, sounding like a dutchess. "He seems to be a very private Argonian."

"Yeah…" Dar-Meena's eyes were shifty, wandering around the courtyard.

A grin crept upon my face. "How'd you two come across each other? Was it a chance meeting on a lonely night? Or did he slay a mighty dragon and sweep you off your feet?"

She didn't pay me any mind. "I met him in a graveyard."

"Ha! Truer than fiction, eh? Mind telling the whole–"

"Will you shut up for two seconds?"

Falura stiffened. "For goodness sake! He was only making conversation."

"Open your eyes and look around. All these people passing by… Do you see the looks we're getting?"

I took a gander for myself. Aye, we were getting some funny stares from the locals. Not looks of disgust, at least outright. Just the kind that said, 'What's _that_ doing here?'

"We're attracting the wrong kind of attention," Dar-Meena said stiffly.

Falura disputed. "Doing what?"

"Gracing the city with our presence? Damned if I know."

"I imagine we're a more eclectic group of travelers than what these people are used to, that's all."

Dar-Meena backed away from the fire. "Whatever. I say we go our separate ways for a while."

"Split up in a city none of us know?" I said. "Now where's the sense in that?"

"I'm sure you're both smarter than you look. You'll be fine," she snorted, leaving with a toss of her hand. "Entertain yourselves for the evening. I'm off to find the markets."

We watched her back as she turned a corner down the road and disappeared into the maze-like walls of the city. Falura scoffed.

"Charming girl…"

"The Dragonborn likes her," I shrugged. "Different strokes, I guess. So… where's this leave you and me?"

"Where indeed. It _would_ be nice to explore the city." She pondered for a minute. "Perhaps splitting up will do some good. We haven't had much time to ourselves since we've traveled together. Take the rest of the day off, Reinhardt. We can rejoin here at sundown."

"You sure? I mean… I'm supposed to be your bodyguard. I'd never forgive myself if something happened…"

Falura put a hand on her hip. "You call yourself a bodyguard without a sword? I was under the impression you needed to buy a new one."

_Oh, right. _I still don't know how that slipped my mind.

"Guess I've got an errand." I glanced off at the roads, scratching my head. "But, uh … My pockets are still a little light..."

The mage sighed and reached into her coin purse.

"This is the last handout you're getting from me," she said.

I counted on that. It's just a fact; people don't tend to like expensive volunteers.

~ooooo~

I strolled through the streets of Windhelm later that evening, a shiny new longsword hanging at my side. The smith's greatswords were out of my price range. It was a dandy steel blade – a cut below my old one, but I'd make the most of it. Was hoping maybe the lizard lady could spare some coin to help buy me a shield, after she'd gathered all the profits from peddling our dragon scales. Having something I could put between wyrms and their fire seemed like a wise idea.

A couple of children ran by through the slush. Tall walls make the roads of Windhelm feel like hallways in a castle with no ceiling. As I turned a corner, a man in a brown coat appeared, brushing past me.

Take a guess who it was. I'll give you a hint: there were two horns sticking out the back of his hood.

"Oh-ho! If it isn't the Dragonborn!" I said. "Decided you were a city person after all?"

Chases turned around, his lizard face as readable as a book with no pages.

"Reinhardt. I am in the middle of something. Unless this is urgent…"

"In a hurry? Where are you off to?"

The Argonian checked the streets for signs of anyone coming. "The Jarl's palace," he said. "I wish to speak with Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Ulfric? You got business with him?"

"I am hoping he will recognize me. We met at Helgen. If there's a chance he knows anything about the black dragon…"

"Ah! Sounds exciting. I'll join you!"

Chases blinked. "Why?"

"Why not? No way I'm gonna let a good squabble go on without me!"

"A squabble? As in…?" He let out a huff of warm breath. "Nevermind… Xhuth, I suppose there's no real harm in it."

"Relax. You won't regret a thing."

"As long as you leave the talking to this one," he said sternly, "and give no mention of my being Dragonborn."

Chases took us on a long winding route to the Palace of the Kings. Anybody watching us might've thought we were lost or wandering aimlessly, but I had a gut feeling tellin' me otherwise. That lizard was too deliberate about the things he did. It's like there were layers to his thinking you could keep peeling away.

We passed a lone man walking along the road. I greeted him in passing. He gave Chases and me a slanted look before turning unkindly down another street. I watched him go behind us, lowering my voice.

"Ysmir… These Nords give colder shoulders than snow."

"Take it as fault of my company," Chases said. "We do ourselves little good being seen together."

"Your lady friend thought the same thing."

"I'm not surprised. The Nords in this city have avoided me so far. I wouldn't complain about this, if I did not suspect the reasons behind it."

"Think these Nords don't like your kind? We saw some Argonians out by the docks."

"But have you seen any _inside_ the city walls? I myself have not. It's as if they aren't allowed here."

"Maybe they just like staying by the water. You lizards do that, right?"

Chases' shoulders slumped. "Duly considered… Still, the Dunmer in this city seem segregated. Their district is a slum from what I've seen. Few guard patrols."

"Dark Elves? In _this _city?"

"They could be refugees from Morrowind; survivors of the Red Mountain eruption, or their descendants." The Argonian looked at me. "Whatever the racial climates may be, we need to be on our best behavior. Remember that when we see the Jarl."

Soon we arrived at the Palace of the Kings. The stone castle lorded high above our heads, making anyone standing in the shade of its ramparts small and insignificant. Stormcloaks watched our every move. We stepped up to a set of great metal doors.

"Halt," said a soldier standing at attention. "The palace is closed to outsiders, lizard."

I came forward. "We're here to see the Jarl," I said, pointing at thumb at Chases. "He's with me."

The Argonian flung me a look, but played along. "We bring word of the dragons," he said. "It is urgent that we speak with him. The safety of this city may depend on it."

A couple of other Stormcloaks gathered around us, sending a clear message.

"Hand over your weapons first," the man ordered. Something about his tone rubbed me the wrong way. Was this routine or a shakedown? I stared into the soldier's helmet, making sure I could see his eyes.

"Your honor's good, kinsman? We'll get them back?"

He paused. "Aye, you'll get them back."

"You swear it?"

"On my son's grave."

"Xhu. Then let us all be honorable men today," Chases said, unstrapping his sword. We gave our weapons to the guardsmen; after a comb of our clothes for hidden daggers and the like, we went on inside.

Every grand hall has a long dining table for feasting and guests, and Ulfric's hall was no exception. Expensive silver dining ware was set on display. The palace was cold and dim, blue banners rimming the ceiling. Far back at the hall's end was the Jarl's empty throne, resting on a plinth. A Stormcloak told us to wait for the Jarl and his housecarl. Meanwhile, two men were speaking in a war room to our left.

"He's a true Nord. He'll come around."

"Don't be so sure of that. We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire is putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."

Chases heard it too. He seemed to tense.

"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message."

"If by message, you mean a sword through his gullet…"

They stopped talking as the guard announced our presence to them. The first man emerged from the room. It was the Jarl's housecarl, a gruff bearded Nord, head dressed in a bear pelt and the armor of an officer. He looked like he'd just returned from the front.

Then Ulfric Stormcloak, the man himself, followed after, dressed in thick clothes that befitted a warlord better than a king. We stepped forward to speak, several guards in attendance. Banners hanging on the sides of the throne were stitched with Windhelm's emblem, the great bear of Eastmarch – a fitting image for the man now sitting on that throne.

"Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons." Ulfric's voice was measured and deep. He paused, taking in the Dragonborn. "Do I know you?"

"I believe we have met," Chases said. "Recall a certain village and a dragon…"

"Ah yes. You were with us at Helgen." He lounged in his seat. "The mysterious Argonian. I last saw you with Ralof… What became of him?"

"He's alive, recovering from a broken leg in Riverwood. We helped each other escape."

"Shor's bones!" I exclaimed softly. "That was you? You're the one who saved Ralof?"

"You know him?" Chases turned. His eyes got a little bigger. "He… mentioned me?"

"Only that a man saved his life. He didn't say nothin' specific."

The Argonian wilted. "I suppose that is the most I could hope for. As long as he refrains from telling too many others..."

We returned our attention to an impatient Ulfric. The look he gave us was neither warm nor cold, but it teetered on the edge of either. The slightest tip in the wrong direction spelt deep trouble. Every soldier in the palace stood at Ulfric's beck and call, ready to throw us out by our breeches or lay down their lives at the glint of a blade. This was a Nord with influence.

"Ralof's a damn good man. I hope this is true," Ulfric said. "Now… What should I call you?"

"You may call me Chases-The-Wind, if you wish."

The Jarl seemed indifferent. "And what would _your_ name be?"

"Reinhardt. The honor's mine."

"You follow an Argonian?"

"I follow blood on the wind. And the sweet scent of mead."

He smirked at that answer. "What brings you to my city?" Ulfric spoke to Chases more than me. "Not everyone can say they made it out of Helgen. I'm always looking for able fighters."

"Helgen is what I've come to discuss," the Dragonborn said, "and anything you know about the dragons. I seek information."

"Boldly spoken… but I have none to give. Some think that the black dragon's appearance was somehow my doing. I advise you to disregard such rumors."

"Convenient timing then, was it?" I chimed in.

Ulfric lowered his voice. "I would have chosen a different convenience."

"Still saved you a shave from the Imperial headsman."

"You know absolutely nothing?" Chases prodded. "This is important. The black dragon that attacked us is resurrecting all the others. Their numbers are increasing as we speak."

"Is that so?" He didn't ask how we knew that, or showed if he believed it. It was just another rumor to weigh and consider. "Legends speak of dragons as harbingers of the end times. We hear more reports of them by the day. Their attacks are a growing plague, but the sons of Skyrim will not die lying down. We will fight them as we fight the Imperials."

"If fighting is even enough," Chases dryly remarked.

I nudged the Dragonborn's arm. Our visit to the leader of the Stormcloaks wasn't getting anywhere. We wouldn't do ourselves any favors by wasting his time. The Argonian glanced at me.

"I would ask one final question," he said to Ulfric, "something more specific. At Helgen… the Imperials kept you gagged, yes? I have heard scattered rumors that you are able to Shout."

The Jarl gave no body language. "Any Nord can learn the Way of the Voice, given enough ambition and dedication."

"Is it true then?" I jumped in and asked. "You shouted the High King to death?"

"Not entirely true, though not entirely false either. My shouting put Torygg on the ground. However, it was my sword piercing his heart that killed him."

Chases hissed softly. "Hmm… Wud kaslothtoluu…"

"I killed Torygg to prove our wretched condition. How is the High King supposed to be the defender of Skyrim if he can't even defend himself? He was too privileged and foolish, a puppet-king of the Empire, more interested in entertaining his queen than ruling his country."

And now that queen sat on the High King's throne. Elisif the Fair had become the Jarl of Solitude, though she wasn't High Queen. The Moot hadn't met yet to decide that. It wouldn't until the war was over.

Which assumed we'd all still be alive at that point and not crispy corpses! But oh well. Every Nord has his priorities. Mine involve less fighting for freedom and more killing big winged people cookers.

"There hasn't been a true High King in generations," Ulfric said. "It's time we had a real one. A king of our own making."

_By that you mean you, eh? _Good thing he wasn't arrogant about it.

"As you say. It is not my place to judge," Chases replied. "This is your people's land. You bear the consequences of your own actions."

The Jarl frowned. "I fight because I must, Argonian. A man who clings to apathy will see the world change without him."

"True. But no man can fight every evil he crosses, or join every skirmish he sees. I stopped fighting political battles long ago. Forgive me if I sound brash." The Dragonborn gave a curt bow. "It was gracious of you to speak with us. We will be on our way. I shall give Ralof your regards, if I meet him again."

Ulfric stood from his throne.

"I expect you will do that. I look forward to hearing his account, when he returns here."

~ooooo~

We left the Palace of the Kings somewhat disappointed but, thank the gods, no poorer than we'd entered. The guards back outside returned our weapons as promised. I'd been worried over nothing. Ulfric Stormcloak wasn't a man who had my support, but I could admire anyone who trained soldiers with integrity. A shame there's always a few bad eggs.

Stars shone above Windhelm, the night crisp and cold. Chases and I stopped on the steps away from the palace to talk.

"Me and Falura are spending the night at a fancy inn," I said. "You should join us. No need to be a stranger if we're all meaning to travel together. I'll even buy us drinks." _And put myself in the poor house again._

The Dragonborn didn't look at me. "Thank you, but I will seek a quieter place to spend the night. First I want to find Dar-Meena, wherever she is."

"Ah, your lady friend." I grinned. "I last saw her at the markets. Shops oughta' be closing down now, but she might still be there."

"It is a place to start." He turned to me. "Should I assume you want to come along?"

I stared blankly at the lizard. He stared back.

"What?" Chases said.

"You looked like you wanted to eat me."

"I was smiling."

"Oh."

After silently agreeing to forget that trade of words, we went off in search of the girl. The markets were closed, stalls and awnings empty for the night. I asked some folks still loitering about and one of them said she'd seen Dar-Meena heading toward the inn.

It was about that time we started hearing voices. Angry voices, echoing over the walls. One of them sounded familiar.

Chases must've thought the same thing I did, 'cause he left in a hurry. I followed him down an empty road; fire pits let the way. There's something about the quiet beauty of a city at night that makes my skin crawl. We kept our pace, spotted the inn up ahead, and lo and behold…

"Back to the docks with ya! Your kind ain't welcome here!"

"Piss off! You don't tell me what to do!"

We stopped. Dar was there alright, at the entrance to the inn. But so were two other men, shaking their fists and holding bottles of mead in their hands. They were cursing and yapping back and forth like a bunch of angry dogs.

"Answer me honest, Dragonborn," I said. "Who do you think started it? The girl or the two milk-drinkers?"

"I try to have faith," Chases grumbled. "Mind yourself. We break this up without causing a scene."

"Don't know about that... This smells bad."

"Probably the alcohol."

We stepped into the light of the inn's windows.

"For the last time, I don't work at the docks!" Dar-Meena snapped. "Just let me through!"

"She's right, you know," I spoke up. "How 'bout you two leave the lady alone."

The three turned to us. One of the men had a cap with ear flaps and the other looked raggedly dressed, but with big muscles. Quick to take advantage of a posse, the lizard lady withdrew from her spat and joined us.

"Great timing, you two," Dar-Meena said with a sinister smirk. "Can we do something about these bone-heads?"

"And what would the trouble be?" Chases asked.

"Isn't it obvious? They won't let me inside!"

The muscle man grumbled to himself. "Just what this city needs… More outsiders."

"The only thing worse than you scale-backs are the damn grey-skins," the other said, raising his voice. "You ain't here to help the Stormcloaks! You're here to eat our food and pollute the city with your stink!"

"Stink? Oh, you mean that's not _yours_?" Dar-Meena snarked. "I assumed you couldn't tell the difference between a sidewalk and a latrine. My mistake."

"Shut your trap, lizard! Before I wear that tail of yours as a belt!"

"Dar-Meena, must you worsen this?" Chases hissed, turning to the drunks. "Please allow my companions to enter the inn. We're staying the night and leaving tomorrow. Hardly an inconvenience to anyone."

"Come and make me, boot. If you got the stones for it," the cap man sneered.

"I will not. There is no need for this."

"Don't like it? Too bad. This is our city. Ours!"

_They're asking for it, _I thought to myself. These two drunks were looking for a fight, but the Dragonborn wasn't gonna give it to them.

What he didn't realize was that these were Nords. Fighting's in our blood. When the time comes to talk, we talk with our fists. These men wouldn't play by Chases' rules; they were offering a challenge and they _expected_ a reply. Don't matter to me if a Nord's sober or drunk as piss. I never pass down a fight. Chases, though…

_Come on, Dragonborn. Nobody in this city's gonna look twice if we beat these two. Let's nip this in the bud before it gets worse!_

"We are not here to stir trouble," Chases said.

"Don't think I can take ya?" The capped man had a smile like a rusty wood-saw. "One hundred Septims says I can punch you back where you came from."

My eyebrow shot up. Oh, I had the itch.

"A hundred Septims, eh? Is that all? Why stop there?" I said with a grin, cracking my knuckles. "How 'bout we add some more purses to the pot? Two on two. Fists only."

Chases lowered my arms. He shot me a glare, then went up to the Nords; his hand stayed far away from his sword. "Come on, boot, let's go!" the man in the cap goaded.

"We're not fighting. If that means we stay outside, so be it," the Dragonborn said quietly. He turned around and walked away. The drunks watched him leave, chucking insults at his back like rotten tomatoes.

"Chase, you're letting them keep us out?" Dar-Meena hissed, getting in his way.

"Men like them aren't worth the trouble," he murmured, pushing her onward in front of him. "We'll find another place to stay."

Damn. And here I was looking forward to some extra coin. The three of us started off. The man with the cap raised his mead in the air, yammering something in a slurred voice.

Then he threw the bottle.

Chases saw it coming, just before it shattered against the back of his head. He stumbled with a sharp cry and Dar-Meena caught him, startled. While the two men laughed, he reached back with his hand and cut himself on bloody shards of glass. I spun to the drunkards.

_Why, you…! _

"What do you want on your tombstones!?" I roared, leaping to take a swing at the first man in my sight.

"Reinhardt, stop!" Chases barked. "Xhuth!"

Sorry, but I was done being nice. Nobody gets away with a dirty move like that while I'm around. My fists were cutting the air, and they wouldn't stop till those two bastards were lying on their backs.

Those drunks fought like filthy rats. The capped man picked up a fistful of snow and threw it at my face, but I stuck a hard blow in his gut. He doubled over while the other one charged. I spun him around by his clothes and sent him crashing into a sign post. He picked himself right back up; that man could take a beating. So I _let him have it._

I went in swinging my knuckles like a beast out of his cage, left and right, up and down. Got a lucky hit on his side, then sealed it with a sock to the jaw. The muscle man fell in the slush with a satisfying plop.

But the capped man was up to his old tricks again. He had a knife in his hand and was coming at me full speed.

Chases appeared behind him from the shadows. While the fight had raged on, he'd rounded the inn to the other side. He kicked the back of the man's leg and brought him to a knee, grabbing his wrist. The Argonian raised his elbow and hammered it down on the drunkard's arm. The result? I'm no expert, but I don't think arms are meant to bend the way his did.

He let out a holler.

"_Yield_!" the Dragonborn snarled.

"By order of the Jarl, stop right there!"

We whipped our heads. Orange-yellow light dyed the snow. The guards of Windhelm showed up to catch the commotion, carrying torches and swords. Me and Chases backed away from the two drunks, hands up in compliance. With everything eased, I saw the people who'd watched us from the inn's windows. Hope they enjoyed the show. It was a one-time performance.

Dar-Meena hurried to Chases' side, fretting over his injuries.

"Gods! Chase, don't let it bleed like that! Just heal yourself!"

The Dragonborn groaned, tenderly feeling the back of his head.

"No… have to remove the glass first…" He glanced at her unhappily. "I may need help with that…"

Falura burst out of the inn's doorway. Apparently she'd been inside and just noticed the fight.

"Reinhardt! What's going on out here?"

I pointed to the man getting ushered by a guard, the one with the funny looking arm.

"Son of a bitch threw a bottle at the Drago–" Whew. Caught myself. "He threw a bottle at Chases while his back was turned!" Falura saw the Argonian's wounds and brought a hand to her mouth. The two drunks were taken home. I thought we were ready to catch our breaths.

Oh, I was all too wrong. The guards starting spitting some nonsense about 'charges for disturbing the peace' and went over to Chases and Dar. They apprehended them, binding their arms.

"Hey! What are you doing!?" I shouted, stomping up to them.

One of the Stormcloaks stepped in front of me, breathe vaporing through the slits of his helmet. "I don't know your face, traveler." He looked at the Argonians. "You with these trouble makers?"

"Tell those men to let 'em go! They had nothing to do with this!"

"We heard the black one yelling all the way over at Valunstrad, keepin' people awake. And that red scale-back just broke a citizen's arm."

"It was self-defense!"

"Doesn't matter. If the healers can't fix him, he might never work again."

"Then he shouldn't have picked a fight he couldn't win," I growled. "It's his own fault! Those two are innocent!"

"That so?" he said. "Sure you don't want to reconsider?"

I took a step closer. "I ain't a damn liar."

Dar-Meena was speechless, for once. Her wide eyes seemed to grasp how stuck we were; this was neck-deep shit. Two drunks we could fight. Not an entire city guard. Chases watched me intently.

"Look here," the guard said in a casual voice. "I see two men standing in front of me. One's a good, honest Nord who'd never tangle with a couple of scale-back criminals." He leaned in enough for me to smell his breath. "The other's a spy for the Imperials. Only one of these men's got a full life ahead of him. So tell me… which are you?"

I ground my teeth.

"You dirty whoreson…"

"What was that? You're resisting arrest? We got a nickname for anyone who trifles with us guards in Windhelm, you know."

"And what's that?"

The man put a hand on the mace at his belt.

"Suicide."

_Damn, damn, damn! Nine divines, curse the day this bastard was born! _There had to be a way out of this. Something I could say or do to fix everything. This wasn't supposed to happen!

I glanced at the Dragonborn. Blood was still pouring down the back of his neck, but he didn't show a lick of fear. A man of patience, I tell you. "Tell them, Reinhardt," Chases said. "You were not involved here."

Better to have two in the prisons than three. I didn't have to like it. We just didn't have a choice.

I took in a breath.

"Ho there," a voice behind me said. "Still being 'honorable men' today?"

I turned around. It was the guard from the palace. And he'd brought friends.

The slimy Stormcloak tried to smooth-talk. "Everything's in order, Alof. Just a couple of scale-back trouble makers. They're gonna spend a night in the dungeon till we decide how to handle the charges."

The palace guard took in the whole scene. He was a quick wit. "Another drunken brawl? Don't tell me it was Rolff again."

"There were two of 'em. We defended ourselves," I said, glancing at the inn's window. "The people up there were watching us. _Somebody_ must've seen it."

Alof took a confident step toward the other man. "You hear that, Sjarnfid? Sounds like questioning witnesses. Might take you the rest of the night, unless you want to explain why your men didn't do a full investigation."

"Oblivion with that. We'll wait for the confession. We don't need witnesses."

"Tell that to Yrsarald. Captain signed off early today, something about bad Rockjoint in his legs. Didn't you hear?"

"You're full of yourself."

"Couldn't make it up if I tried. Just the way it happened to be tonight. I'm sure he won't mind seeing your smiling face in the morning, though. A shame he'll have heard about the witnesses by then."

Whatever wrath that slimy man risked having to face at the hands of his superior, it was enough to make him think twice. After a moment of weighing, he ordered the guards to release the Argonians. Apparently there was nothing to see anymore. A drunken citizen slipped on some ice and broke his arm. The investigation would go on record saying 'no disturbances to report.'

"You lizards should know the law by now," the rotten Stormcloak said. "Don't go snooping around where you don't belong. Get back to the docks."

Ysmir's beard, the man wouldn't give up! That's the shame of it – losing didn't cost him a thing. Just gave him an excuse to pout.

"You don't have to tell me twice," the lizard lady muttered. "We're going."

The Dragonborn glanced at her. "Dar-Meena?"

"We've got to get away from here. Dockworkers live outside the city walls. Better hope they're kind souls… Just hang in there." She lent the Dragonborn her shoulder. His scales had begun to pale, which made the red drizzling down his neck all the more prominent. They left, disappearing down a dark alleyway.

The guards went back to their rounds and the courtyard got quiet. A flute started playing again; I could hear it through the walls of the inn. I met the helm of the guard who'd saved our hides, a smile on my face.

"I owe you, kinsman."

The man looked squarely at me.

"You got lucky," he said.

I quit smiling. We _were_ lucky. I was the one who wanted a fight with those drunks in the first place. If things had gone my way…

I stared at the bloodstains in the snow, kicked up by the guards to where you could barely see them. The Dragonborn knew. He knew this would've happened if we'd fought those drunks. This was what he wanted to avoid.

"Reinhardt, come inside," Falura said, stepping out from the doorway into the cold. I bade the palace guard farewell and dragged my feet to the warmth of the inn.

The Nords I knew in Helgen didn't treat outsiders like second-rate trash. Not like this. Aye, we had our stubborn goats. If an Argonian had passed through our town, folks would've turned their noses up. I'd have done it. I was a dumb little snot. But having scales didn't make you a criminal.

These were corners of Skyrim I hadn't seen before. I never traveled far beyond Falkreath hold as a lad. I thought Nords were better than this; I thought I knew my own kin.

Windhelm showed me how much I didn't.


	53. Arc 3 - Chapter 2

**Arc 3 - A Stab in the Dark**

**~ CHAPTER 2 ~**

_Falura_

* * *

_Fredas, 12th of Hearthfire 4E 201_

The Candlehearth Hall was a homely dark wood inn. Reinhardt closed the front door behind us as we entered. A hiss of talking mixed with music graced our ears from the grand room above. The ground floor housed the bar, rooms, and kitchen, with customers sitting and drinking at tables. A middle-aged woman with deep smile lines on an unsmiling face manned the counter. She handed a key to a man in robes, rolled up scrolls sticking out of his bag. A fellow guest for the night, I presumed. He left down a hallway past the bar.

"Evening, ma'am," Reinhardt said as he stepped up to the counter.

"What was all that commotion outside?" the innkeeper asked.

"Just a little misunderstanding. Give or take a broken arm. Any rooms left for rent?"

The woman leaned forward on her haunches. She seemed oddly unfazed. How common were drunken brawls in this city?

"Sure thing. We got two beds down the hall. Third one on the right's all yours. Twenty Septims."

Reinhardt spilled a pile of coins on the table and took his key. I followed up behind him.

"I'll take a room as well," I said. "Whatever you have."

After a moment of pause, the innkeeper stood up, hands resting on the lip of the counter.

"Sixty."

I grimaced.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Sixty Septims. The rate for a room."

"That's… triple the price! What am I paying more for?"

The woman's eyes glossed over me and my belongings lazily.

"Twenty for you, forty for that staff."

"My _staff_?"

"Mind you keep your voice down," she said. "That staff's a dangerous thing to be carryin' around and we ain't looking for trouble. The extra coin's your good word that you won't go zapping my customers with lightning bolts."

_And if you knew the first thing about staffs…! _I pointed down the hall to the guest rooms. "That man earlier was carrying spell scrolls in his satchel. How much did he pay for a room?"

"I keep my ledgers private. If you can't pay the fee, you can always leave your staff out here by the bar…"

Damnation! Such blatant mockery and theft! That innkeeper was a snake in cheap makeup! I would sooner run naked through the boiling waters of the Scathing Bay than leave my staff in her possession.

"…or maybe you should just move along."

Reinhardt slammed a purse of coins down on the counter. People turned their heads.

"There's forty. Put that on top of mine. We'll share a room," he said, glancing at me. "I won't mind a night on the floor."

_Reinhardt… _

He probably thought he was doing me a kindness, stepping up on my behalf. Truth be told, it felt more backhanded. I would have rather given that woman nothing and left to find another place to stay the night, preferably a more _private _space that I could have _to myself. _I said nothing of this to my companion, however. He'd just been through an ordeal and I didn't wish to upset him.

At least he didn't snore like my Ethyl. Otherwise he'd find himself deprived of a room and left in the hallway.

The woman took his money and walked out tautly from behind her counter. She showed us to our room down the hall. The hinges of the door creaked as the innkeeper opened it. We stepped inside.

"Enjoy your stay, and don't break nothin'!"

She closed the door behind us. When it didn't shut all the way, Reinhardt tried closing it himself. It still swung open. He shoved harder and the door obeyed.

The dark room was cramped. Inside were a desk and chair, cabinet and drawers, and a queen sized bed with an animal skin covering. The ceiling boards creaked with feet walking around the great room above us. At least there were no cracks in the walls to let in a chill. I lit a candle with my staff and sat down at the desk. Twitching shadows gave the room an unnerving guise, though that may have been the product of my emotions.

Never before had I felt so homesick.

"These Nord and their damnable prejudice! I've been confronting this all day." I sank in my seat, exhausted. "I'm sorry, Reinhardt, but your people can be absolutely repugnant. Raising the rate for my staff! The nerve!"

"I'm not saying that innkeeper was right," he said sheepishly, taking off his armor one piece at a time. "Had a feeling the lady was more interested in your grey skin than your staff. She picked a clever line, though, to charge you extra coin with."

"Clever to a mudcrab, certainly."

"You got to see it from their side of things…"

"That magic is evil and staffs make great firewood?" I snapped. "Any tool can be given a horror story as easily as one of benefit. Magic is only dangerous in the hands of someone who doesn't respect its power."

"Aye. But try telling that to a man who can't protect himself from a fireball or a bolt of lightning." He took a drink of water from his canteen and wiped his mouth. "If you can't beat it, shun it."

I didn't retort. The intelligence of my companion's statement put me at a disadvantage. Fear is indeed a straight road to hate. I so often neglect this when dealing with opposers of magic.

The Nord looked down at me. "What's with the smile?"

"Every day I think to myself you're the clumsiest Nord I've ever met," I said, shaking my head. "Then you come out and say something profoundly wise, exposing me for the daft elf I am."

He grinned. "Just earning my pay."

"Reinhardt, you–"

"Don't even say it. I'm no volunteer. Ysmir, I'm no better than a liar." He leaned back against the unsteady dresser. "I'm here carrying a brand new sword bought with your gold. If that ain't pay, then roast me like a basted turkey. You got stuck with a rotten man, Falura."

"No. Rotten men do not admit their faults."

"Sure they do. They just don't fix 'em."

That was true enough. "I'll still see your needs met. If I wasn't willing, I wouldn't do it. A sword is a price I'm glad to pay for worthy service."

"That so? Much obliged," my companion nodded, grinning cheerfully again. "Might have you say that to my next employer. A good word's worth its weight in gold." Reinhardt's stopped smiling. His eyes wandered up the walls. "Think that innkeeper could've given us a better room?"

"There's no doubt about that," I grumbled, joining his inspection of our quarters. "I simply hope these Nords harbor no… unfounded thoughts about our stay. Sharing a bedroom for the night may not have been the deftest move…"

"Hey, I'm the one sleeping on the floor. You don't have to give up a thing."

"I mean some might mistake us for a couple."

Reinhardt arched his brow. "That where your scholarly mind's been wandering, Falura?"

"I'm spoken for, I'll have you know. You can keep your advances. Unless you have aspirations of becoming a pile of ash."

"See, that's the thing right there," Reinhardt spoke in a higher pitch than normal. "Sleeping with the women who hire me always sounds like a better idea than it actually is. I've had the luck to live to my ripe old age and put a few lessons under my belt, but… if we're talking punishments to fit the crimes, I should've been a pile of ash a long time ago."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I said.

The man chuckled. "Don't give it a worry, Falura. Far as I know, you're old enough to be my mother."

"I'm sixty-seven, Reinhardt. Not even a century. That's quite young for a Dunmer."

"Ha! _Only _sixty-seven, she says."

I let the matter go. At least I could trust Reinhardt to be a gentleman (a term I use loosely in this context). The way he ogled Aela on the road to Mount Anthor had sent a few cautioning signals, but it was obvious he had no inclinations toward me. Of course, this only left me thinking of Ethyl. I quietly sat back in my seat.

"Didn't know you had someone, Falura," Reinhardt said, lacking his usual banter.

"My husband," I replied, weaving my fingers together. "Back in Morrowind."

"Husband, eh? He'd better be good to you."

I smiled humbly. "I am no worse for wear."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"That would have been a month ago. I didn't come here to Skyrim with the intent to stay so long, however. I was to be in Winterhold for only a week."

"What happened?"

"Dragons, Reinhardt. Dragons happened." I paused, head dropping. "I sent him a letter, telling him why I haven't come home. I hope he hasn't taken the news too poorly…"

"Sounds like you miss him."

"He's a pompous troubadour who keeps his lute better tuned than his manners." I glanced up at Reinhart's pitying face. "And yes... I miss him. More than I could put to words."

The Nord turned his head to the door. "Well then, all the more reason I make sure you get back to him safely."

I thanked Reinhardt for the kindness. It was cruel of me to leave Ethyl for so long, on such short notice, and in such frightening circumstances. I wished there was a way I could speak to him, to tell him I was okay. The dragons remained a danger, but I was far less afraid of them than I had been at the start of this excursion, now with Reinhardt at my side.

I wanted to say the same of my _other_ company. But…

"Reinhardt. There's something I need to discuss with you," I said. "It's about the Dragonborn."

"I'd been meaning to ask you too," he replied. "What do you think of our new scaley companions?"

A frown crept upon my countenance. "Are you certain you want _my_ opinions on them?"

"Woah there, you sound… angry. You're not angry about all this, are you?" He shifted his weight uncomfortably. "If you didn't want to travel with the Argonians, you could've said so back at Kynesgrove."

I wasn't angry before. Now I was, if only a little.

"We both know that's not true," I said. "You were set on accompanying the Dragonborn no matter what. Nothing I could've said had the power to sway you."

He scratched the back of his head. "Eh… Suppose so…"

I started planning two steps ahead of the conversation. There was no avoiding this dialog. I needed to tell Reinhardt what I knew, the things that had me truly scared, as much as even the dragons.

"You ask me what _I_ think of them?" I said. "The girl I'm indifferent to, though her attitude has been very unbecoming."

"Aye, she's a shifty one. That lizard lady's got a chip on her shoulder. She did help me out at Kynesgrove, though."

"Probably looking out for her own self interests."

"I don't think she's all bad." He idly rubbed his temple. When I didn't reply, he grew silent, biding a moment before speaking again. "What about the Dragonborn?"

"I'll let you speak first…"

"Suits me," he said, smiling. "_Him_ I like. He's a man of action, thinks on his feet. And he's damn good in a fight. 'Course, I think we both knew that already."

I wrapped my arms around my midriff. "He's awfully cold, though, wouldn't you say? He barely spoke a word to us on the road here."

"Sure, sure. But you should've seen him out there when we were dealing with those drunks."

"I heard the ear-splitting scream. I'm quite happy I _didn't_ see it."

"Aw, it was just a broken arm."

"Reinhardt! I saw that broken arm. Is there even a chance it will mend?"

He shrugged. That man and his flippancy – there was no end to it. I gave him a sidelong look.

"I'm not criticizing your judge of character," I calmly insisted. "We simply don't know anything about who the Dragonborn is… or was."

"We don't know anything about the girl, either."

"I'm not as concerned about her."

"Concerned?" Reinhardt's tone rose in surprise. "Hey now, the Dragonborn's on our side."

"You're too trusting," I said sternly. "He says he has enemies, but he cannot tell us who they are. There is an obvious reason he's here in Skyrim. It's in no way related to the dragons. He has an agenda, Reinhardt, and until we know what it is, we cannot assume anything about him."

My companion's eyes mildly lit ablaze. He resented my distrust of Chases-The-Wind. I couldn't possibly blame him for that. He didn't know what I knew, hadn't seen what I'd seen.

"I saw what the Dragonborn did out there," Reinhardt said, "when that drunk threw his bottle at him."

"Oh? Do tell."

"He let himself get hit."

"Hm? Let himself? What makes you say this?"

"Chases saw the bottle coming, had the perfect chance to dodge. I'd bet my stones he could've done it."

"And yet he did not," I spoke slowly, dubiously. "That doesn't lend much to your theory."

Rainhardt puffed himself up, smirking with confidence.

"Dar-Meena was in front of him. If he'd gotten out of the way, she would've been the one covered in bloody bits of glass. So he took the hit, used himself as a shield." The man sounded reverent. "Could a bad man do something like that?"

_Of course. Gallantry is not exclusive to the gallant, _I thought. Still, this certainly made for a romantic portrait of the Argonian. But was it accurate?

"You're giving him a lot of credit," I said. "You don't suppose it might be undue?"

He grinned even broader. "Not in the least."

Such optimism. I sincerely hoped he was right. I wanted to believe the Dragonborn was noble. It would make it easier to cope with some of my other less flattering suspicions about him.

On the road to Windhelm, it occurred to me that Reinhardt was not a man familiar with Argonians and their culture. I could see he had difficulties reading their body language. Myself less so, for reasons I wished to withhold for the time being; Reinhardt was not a trustworthy keeper of secrets. Nonetheless, this seemed like a good occasion to educate my companion.

"Reinhardt, have you heard of the Red Year?" I asked.

"Heard of it, yeah, but don't know much about it," he said. "Why?"

"Do you know of the Argonian invasions in Morrowind?"

"Invasions? The Argonians invaded Morrowind?" The Nord raised a palm to his head. "Ysmir's beard! Falura, is _that_ what this is all about?"

I hesitated.

"About what? What do you mean?"

"Is it because they're Argonians? Is that why you're so grouchy around them?"

His words were like ice to my nerves. I could scarcely believe it. The first thing he presumes about me and it ends up being _this_?

"Reinhardt…!" My voice wouldn't rise.

"You can't blame Chases and Dar for things the rest of their people did. That's not fair to them."

"No…! You don't understand…!"

"They're an odd bunch, but they aren't that different from us. You have to have a–"

"_I am not racist_!" I cried, shooting to my feet. "How could you even think that? As though you know me!"

Reinhardt flinched back, hands up in yielding. "Take it easy!" he said. As my heart settled I sat back down, while the Nord shrank somewhat. I did not meet his eyes.

"Sorry, Falura, I... I didn't mean to upset you."

"Oh, don't bother… It's a reasonable thing to assume. My people can be as narrow minded as yours." Yes, I realized what I said. If my companion was offended by the remark, he didn't show it.

"Never seen you like this before, Falura," he said. "What's the big mystery?"

"Heavy memories, Reinhardt. I've lost many people to the lizards of Black Marsh. Friends… Fellow colleagues… My brother…" I swallowed. "But I don't hold their deaths against the Argonians. I hold them against their leaders, the An-Xileel and the accursed Hist."

"The who and the what?"

"The An-Xileel are the governing political faction in Black Marsh, but that's neither here nor there. The Hist are the ones they answer to. Do you know of them?"

If _'Why in the name of Talos would I know of them?'_ had a face, Reinhardt wore it splendidly.

"As I suspected… You haven't heard of them at all," I sighed. "The Hist are an ancient race of sentient trees that grow in Black Marsh. They are ingrained in every aspect of Argonian culture."

"What makes them so special? Do they grow food or something?"

"The Hist are the closest thing Argonians have to gods. They are worshiped and revered."

"Tree gods?" He sneered. "What, the Nine Divines not good enough for them?"

"Reinhardt, _I_ don't worship the Nine. I resent even the gods of my own people, the Tribunal." With a wave of my hand, I dismissed the subject. "Have you at least heard of Umbriel?"

Once more, Reinhardt's expression was sublimely appropriate.

"Alright then, pay attention. I'm going to have to preface some things," I said. "Umbriel was a floating island, trapped in a bubble of Oblivion. It appeared in the early years of the fourth era and traveled across Tamriel, amassing an army of undead on the surface below it."

He stared blankly at me. I'd hoped the notion of a demonic floating landmass would sound _somewhat_ intriguing, but my companion seemed bored more than anything else.

"From Oblivion. But… this was after the Oblivion Crisis," Reinhardt said, trying to sort the dates in his mind.

"Correct. Umbriel wrought great death and destruction upon Tamriel before its rampage was finally stopped. One of the first cities it destroyed was Lilmoth, in the northern region of Black Marsh. And when it did…"

"And when it did… what?"

"Something happened at Lilmoth that the An-Xileel have tried to hide. There are records of the disaster, but its true nature has been kept suppressed."

By this point, Reinhardt appeared to be attentive. That or he was an impressively deceptive daydreamer.

"The lizards have a name they call certain members of their kind," I said. "_Lukiul. _It means assimilated or Imperialized. The Lukiul were Argonians that still clung to Imperial ways, even after Black Marsh's secession from the Empire."

"So?"

"When Umbriel arrived at Lilmoth, the city's population amassed and stood before the island's hoard of undead… but they did not fight. They died, without lifting a single blade or claw. Thousands of Argonian corpses were added to Umbriel's army that day. This event is known to historians as The Slaughter at Lilmoth."

Yet again, Reinhardt's emotive display was spectacular.

"That's… ridiculous!" he said. "They didn't fight at all?"

I rested my chin on my folded hands. "They didn't have a choice. The Hist made them do it."

"Made them?" He shook himself. "Wait, what?"

"All of the Argonians who died in that city were Lukiul. The Hist took control of their minds and threw them before Umbriel to be slaughtered. The rest of the city's population had already fled. In one fell sweep, Lilmoth was purged of its Imperial taint. This was the twisted will of the Hist."

Reinhardt ran a hand through his hair. "Falura, I respect your knowledge. By Shor, I do. But you're gonna have to take a step back now. These Hist can _control minds_?"

"In a manner of speaking. Argonians share a spiritual link with the trees, a connection of the soul. This link is established at an early age, through some manner of ritual. It is said that the spirits of Argonians who die return to the Hist to be reincarnated. The link, however, has other serious consequences.

"The Hist can influence the minds of Argonians, inducing visions or altered states of consciousness. When Dagon's armies invaded during the Oblivion Crisis, Argonians from across Tamriel were rallied back to Black Marsh at the Hist's prompting. It is the one of the many reasons they were able to defend their marshes against the daedra so successfully."

"And you believe all this?" Reinhardt said with a faint-hearted laugh. "Falura, you're talking crazy! There's no way these Hist can be that powerful."

I scowled. "You can't convince me otherwise. I've seen an Argonian controlled by the Hist. I've watched it happen before my very eyes."

"Shor's bones…" Reinhardt held out his hands in exasperation, as if he were begging for something. "Falura, where's all this going? How do you even know these things?"

"These matters are important to me," I said softly. "Almost as much as magic. I've spent years gathering information, trying to learn all that I can."

"But why? What's the damn reason?"

"Put simply, I owe it to my brother. To ensure I didn't lose him for nothing."

I stared at the floorboards, trying not to think of that day.

"Reinhardt… The Hist are the fiends responsible for instigating the Argonian invasion of Morrowind. Those wretched _trees_ are the reason we Dunmer live as exiles in our own land! Even now they continue to plot our downfall. The Argonians are merely pawns to them. And the Dragonborn, a man capable of nigh limitless power, is one such pawn."

I stood up, my voice trembling with quiet fury.

"Tell me, Reinhardt. What happens if the Hist decide to take control of the Dragonborn? What if they turn him against my people?"

The Nord was taken back. Delphine had told us of the Dragonborn's abilities, how he could absorb the souls of wyrms and master his Thu'um. The Argonian would grow more powerful with every Dragon he killed, every Shout he learned. And the danger to my people would grow with him. Dragonborn of history have performed great feats. Tiber Septim founded an Empire. Martin defeated Dagon. When Chases killed the dragon at Kynesgrove, shouting it out of the sky, he showed us the strength of his blood.

In the hands of the Hist, beings purported to possess future sight, that blood could make a terrible weapon.

That was it. I'd exposed my greatest fear. Of course, it did not shake Reinhardt as it did me. His people were not the ones in danger. My companion understood, but he did not sympathize.

"Falura, you'd better not be thinking what I think you are." The fire in his eyes had returned "The Dragonborn's _on our side_."

"I won't bring harm to him," I said. "That would be foolish of me." We needed Chases-The-Wind to help stop the dragon menace. I would see one crisis averted before trying to prevent another. But after the dragons… the Hist could only take control of him so long as he lived, a state that could easily change.

As I glanced at the deep red crystal of my destruction staff, I knew I had the power to bring that change.

Could I do it? Could I kill a noble man to safeguard the future of my race?

My companion leaned his whole weight against the dresser. "We should talk to Chases about this," he said.

"No! This is a delicate matter. We don't know what his allegiances are. He could be an agent of the An-Xileel. Please, Reinhardt, we must wait until we know more. Promise me you will not speak to him."

He considered my words, then declared his own, bereft of the usual repartee.

"Aye. You'll be the one to bring this up to the Dragonborn. Not me."

There was nothing more to say. I had confided in Reinhardt, but I wasn't certain of the result. Either way I'd lifted a great boulder off my shoulders. All that remained was to wait and prepare. My companion and I settled down to sleep for the night.

The decision I made to remain in Skyrim had been a difficult one. But it was the right decision. None could deny that the Dragonborn required assistance. I would continue to study the dragons and help him end their threat.

After that, another difficult decision would await my agency.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

_For those who may be curious, the events described here of The Slaughter at Lilmoth are lore accurate. This includes the deaths of the Lukiul Argonians. This was described in the book The Infernal City.  
_

_The idea that the An-Xileel suppressed knowledge of the event, however, is mine. _

_Just so there's no confusion. :) _


	54. Arc 3 - Chapter 3

**Arc 3 - A Stab in the Dark**

**~ CHAPTER 3 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

My back warmed against a roaring fireplace, muscles relaxing in the heat. A sharp tugging pain made me wince. Dar-Meena squeamishly plucked the last shard of glass from my scalp.

"If there's any more in there, find somebody with better eyes than mine," she said, wiping her claws on a cloth.

I raised a hand to the back of my head and cast a healing spell. The cuts quickly closed, leaving only stains of dried blood. Dar-Meena handed me her rag. I folded it to an unbloodied side, wetted it with water, and began dabbing myself clean.

"Remind this one to get a helmet at the soonest opportunity," I said.

Dar-Meena tilted her head. "Can you even wear a helmet? You'd have to get rid of your horns."

I stopped my hand in mid-dab and held it there.

"What? What are you thinking?" she asked.

"Second thoughts," I said. My horns were non-negotiable.

Our shelter from the cold Skyrim night was a warehouse built into the city's outer wall, converted to a living quarters. It was dark. Dilapidated. If poverty had a smell, this place smelled of it. Dar-Meena and I were not alone – the resident dock workers of Windhelm, all exclusively Argonians, joined us by the fire. Upon knocking at their door, I had to repeatedly insist that I needed no medical supplies, only a light for Dar-Meena to find the glass. Our welcome into the assemblage was warm indeed. Smothering, even.

"Are you a healer? I never guessed," said a dark scaled man named Scouts-Many-Marshes. He seemed to be the de-facto leader of these workers, though one would not know this by appearances. They were all dressed in patchy clothes of poorly matching colors.

"It's nobody's first guess," Dar-Meena replied, still checking my feathers and preening them with her claws.

"I'm fine now, thank you," I said to her with a smile, indicating my wish for space. She pushed herself away to the other side of the fire, sitting cross-legged as I. The other Argonians were gathered around us on wooden chairs or the floor. Their beds were lined up behind us in the middle of the room. No privacy.

"What an awful thing to happen," said Scouts-Many-Marshes, sounding genuinely sad. "Rolff never bothers us like this. He spends most of his time yelling at the Dark Elves in their quarter. He must have been especially drunk…"

"Chase set him right," Dar-Meena huffed. "He won't be throwing bottles again anytime soon."

I held my silence. The fracture I inflicted on that man would not heal seamlessly. There was no doubt in my mind that I had dealt permanent damage. Xhuth… I was so focused on disarming him, on eliminating the threat, that I failed to think of the long term consequences. I may have destroyed that man's life.

"Nothing'll change," another worker scoffed, a young man by the name of Neetrenaza. "The Nords still don't appreciate us."

"Surely there must be some who do," I said.

"Trust me, marsh friend. You do not want to live in this city," replied an old, spindly Saxhleel, skin pale and leathered. Stands-In-Shallows.

"We don't plan to," Dar-Meena sneered. "We shouldn't have come in the first place."

My eyes drifted to her. _Indeed… Though the decision to come here was not mine…_

"Do all the Argonians in Windhelm live here? At the docks?" I asked.

"By Ulfric's decree," Neetrenaza spat. "We're forbidden from staying inside the walls. They like to keep us out here with the rest of the trash."

"Don't listen to him," said Shahvee, a thin green Argonian woman. "I know the dock doesn't look nice… but we have shelter and food! Besides, fresh air is good for the gills."

"When those gills aren't freezing solid," Dar-Meena retorted, huddling in her legs.

"Good honest work staves off the cold."

"Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that."

I cleared my throat. "Why dockworkers? Are there no craftsmen or apprentices among you?"

"We work where we can get work," said Scouts-Many-Marshes. "The Nords don't like unloading their ships, so we do it instead."

"And what do you get for your work, huh?" Dar-Meena asked. "What are your broken backs worth to these Nords?"

"Eight Septims per day, plus lodging."

"Shit, my mother paid me more for doing chores as a hatchling."

"We make do. We always have. Sometimes… cargo goes missing."

I drew a frown. "You steal from them? Then you become no better than what the Nords think of you. Surely there's no call for that."

"Chase, look at this place," Dar-Meena said with a frown of her own. "They can't get by on what the Nords give them. What choice do they have?"

"The hearts of these Nords will not go out to thieves and bandits. We can all choose to be better people."

"You can't be 'better people' if you're dying of cold and starvation."

"As I know, believe me," I mildly scoffed. When base needs cannot be met, dignity is the first casualty. At times I take for granted that I am privileged in my self-sufficiency. I live outside the boundaries of social class, dependent on neither society nor law. It is hard enough leading the life of a wanderer. Harder still to live a life trapped in a cold, unwelcoming place.

It would be unfair for me to compare my struggles to those of the dockworkers. As if barrels and crates of sea-bound cargo can be weighed next to a mountain of dead bodies.

"We will not let this kindness go unpaid," I said to Scouts-Many-Marshes. "Is there anything we can offer you in exchange for sheltering us?"

Neetrenaza's gaze wandered down to Xehtasken, lying on the floorboards beside me. "How good are you with that sword? I can think of a few things," he sneered sarcastically.

Dar-Meena gave a laugh. Sarcasm or no, I failed to appreciate the humor. I lowered my voice to an even tone.

"I do not repay kindness with blood. This sword is for protection. No weapon should have to be carried for any reason more than that."

Dar-Meena pounced on my remark. "Really? Is this a _recent _philosophy of yours? Or have you always held it?"

"I believe it now. That is all that matters."

"Seems to me you've got a lot of experience with a sword…"

"I can fight, yes. _Have_ fought, for more than self-defense. Does that make me a hypocrite? Perhaps. If so, it is a brand I willingly accept." I stared into the crackling fireplace, feeling the heat on my snout. "People change their minds. And I am no warrior at heart."

"Marsh friend, you cannot fool us," said the old leathery man. "You have the face of a Saxhleel who's survived many battles. You remind me of the Shadowscales, from the old histories."

A weak chuckle fell from my lips.

"That compliment is unnecessary," I whispered with a crooked smile. Some of my people still hold the Shadowscales in high esteem, as fabled legends. Sentiments of the naive. No praise for them will ever ride on my breath.

Dar-Meena looked at me curiously, then regarded the dockworkers. "Gold's an easy gift," she said. "We'll pay lodging for two. That okay with you, Chase?"

"If everyone here is fine with it."

"We are," Scouts-Many-Marshes spoke with a smile. "Thank you."

I grinned in return. "The thanks are all ours, marsh brother."

The group of us went on to talk for a few minutes more, before our tiredness started to show. It was time to retire for the night. The dockworkers went to their cots, while Dar-Meena and I set our bedding in a corner at the back of the room. We brushed away cobwebs and dust, clearing a space on the floor, while the fire was left to burn out on its own.

An hour passed. The building plunged into total darkness, save for a single candle on a crate by our beds. I lay restless on my pallet, too stirred to sleep. I used the time to meditate rather than worry about the days to come. That was a bridge I could hold off crossing.

Meanwhile, it seemed I was not the only one having trouble falling asleep.

"Chase, are you still awake?" Dar-Meena whispered.

"Yes," I whispered back.

"Can you tell if the others are sleeping?"

"They will not hear us. What sits on your mind?"

I assumed it was something personal she wished to discuss. That, or…

"Who were the Shadowscales?" she asked, trying to catch me unwary.

"They were an order of assassins, agents of the Dark Brotherhood that served the king of Black Marsh," I answered, without missing a beat. Dar-Meena pouted.

"That sounded rehearsed."

"It was."

"Well fine, then. Were the Shadowscales a big deal?"

"I would say so. They existed for a very long time, an order sworn to protect our province and its people. Dark rituals and mysticism shrouded their identity."  
"Rituals? Like what?"

"Only Argonians born under the sign of The Shadow were recruited, for one thing."

Dar-Meena snorted. "Isn't that Cyrodiilic astrology?"

"The Saxhleel use different names, but the idea is the same. Everyone is born with a birthsign. Even you."

"You don't have to tell me that. Twenty-first of Midyear's my hatchday. That makes my sign… The Steed, I think. What about you?"

I smiled. "Are you asking for my birthsign or my hatchday?"

"Oh, I have to choose?" she said teasingly. "Hatchday."

"Hmm… That is… actually a good question. I don't know."

"Huh?" Dar-Meena turned onto her side. "How do you not know what day you were born?"

"I am not even certain of the year."

"You don't know your own age!?"

"I rarely need to reference it. Give me a moment…"

I mumbled to myself dates and events that I could remember. It had to have been before the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, but after Ajim-Okur became Arch-Warden of Archon, following the death of his predecessor. After some intense consideration, I came to an acceptable inference.

"I could be wrong, do not hold me to this." I glanced at Dar-Meena. "I must have been born a year after The Great War began, in the month of Second Seed. I suppose that would make me… thirty, yes?"

Dar-Meena twitched like a broken clock.

"Thirty!?" she hissed. "You're thirty years old!?"

"You seem distressed..."

"Chase, you are _not_ nine years older than me. Don't even joke about that."

"I may be off by a year, but certainly no younger. Why does this bother you?"

"It… doesn't! Just forget I asked."

"Certainly," I said, settling back down.

Thirty years. Twenty spent in Black Marsh. And I have been a killer for almost all of them. I often wonder about my hatching, what my parents might have named me. I was given the name Okan-Zeeus when I was taken to be trained as an assassin. As for my family, I do not remember them. There are hazy memories, some sights and sounds, but little else. I only know what Mahei-Ru spoke of them, that my mother relinquished me to join the Xanxhu-Loh, sparing me an impoverished childhood.

I was too young to know what it all meant. Perhaps that was intentional. I find it difficult, either way, to forgive the An-Xileel for what they did to me. To us. I would have taken the life of poverty.

"Wait a minute." Dar-Meena stirred. "You said your hatchday was in Second Seed?"

"Yes," I said.

"Then that makes your sign…"

"The Shadow."

There was a pause.

"But you aren't a Shadowscale."

_So quick to catch on…_

"No. I am not," I said, staring up at the ceiling. "Their order dissolved long ago. I was born too late to be initiated into their ranks." This, however, did not matter in the end; the legacy of the Shadowscales lived on. We walked in their footsteps.

"What were you, Chase? Before you became a wanderer?"

"That will not be discussed now."

"Will it ever?"

"If I have any say in the matter… no."

I heard a groan. "That figures. I don't even know why I try."

The young thief was selling herself short. She had learned more about me than most ever do. I would have commended her tenacity, if it was directed at anything else.

"This one would ask _you_ something," I said. "How much confidence do you have in our new company?"

"I'm willing to put up with those two, if that's what you're asking."

"You sided with them back at Kynesgrove. I find it hard to believe you would care so little after that."

Dar-Meena rolled onto her side, with a lazy face that seemed to mask something deeper.

"Chase, I'm lying on this creaky floor in freezing Windhelm for _you_, not them. You're the only reason I'm still here." The snide manner of her speech left an unflattering taste. Yet the words themselves moved me. When did she become so trusting?

"I see… I wish these circumstances were less perilous," I said. "It would be easier to appreciate your help."

She made a small, sad sounding growl. **"**Then don't. Save yourself the trouble. I don't care what you think of me."

Either she did care or had simply mastered the art of softening me. My mood shifted.

**"**I said it would be _easier_, Dar-Meena. I still deem it worth the effort. I do appreciate you, very much."

Though still reserved, she seemed pleased with this. I could see her smile in the corner of my eye.

"Good. Get used to it," she said. "Because I won't let you ditch us like you did me."

My eyes rested. "You still haven't forgiven me for that, have you?"

"Forgiven you? Sure I have. I just don't know how prone you are to repeat behavior. You're the not the only one with a cautious bone in his body."

I turned to the thief and grinned. "Then why did you let me stay behind all by myself at the bridge to Windhelm? I could have left the moment you entered the city. I even considered it."

After a moment of stunned silence, her face showed new depths of darkness. But then, to my surprise, she laid her head back. And laughed.

"You're an ass, you know that?" she said. "Pulling every single rug out from under me. _All_ of them. All the damn rugs."

I suppressed a laugh of my own, hearing one of the dockworkers shift in bed.

"If I wanted to leave, I would have done it already," I said. "I will not. Unless I am given a very good reason."

As we smiled at each other, all felt well between us. Better for me that she be happy than foul-tempered, at least. Conversing with that thief was like walking through a field of fire runes. In the past I would have given no thought to keeping company like her, if I had to keep company at all.

And yet…

"Daedra and divines, it's cold in here," Dar-Meena said with a shiver.

"Will you be warm enough for the night?" I asked. "Is there anything I can do?"

It was an honest question. Honestly intended. The thief, however, seemed to hear a different tune. She fixed her yellow eyes on me, a curious look in them.

"Are you offering something?" There was a lilt in her voice that sounded provocative.

"Hm? Oh... _Oh_!" I immediately sat upright. "No, I didn't mean– No! Dar-Meena I wouldn't! I would never…!"

"Right."

"That is the farthest thing from my mind! I swear it! There is too much you don't–"

Once more, unexpectedly, the young thief laughed.

"Gods, will you shut up? You act like it'd be horrible."

She turned over, laying on her side away from me. I remained sitting straight-backed, like a stone.

"…Dar-Meena?"

"Go to sleep."

After some painfully long seconds passed, I rested back down on the ground and faced the wall. The image of her smile, along with her words, seemed permanently fixed in my mind's eye. I would have given almost anything to be somewhere else.

_This… does not bode well for me… _

Why did I stop trying to distance myself from her? I could not tell you. It seemed I gave up almost as soon as I began, back in the forests of the Rift.

Forgive me. I speak as though I do not understand myself. My abstinence from companionship for so many years had taken its toll. Staying on the run from the An-Xileel, I discovered new depths to the meaning of lonesomeness. Over time I grew accustomed to the isolation, but even solitary creatures can find misery in solitude. The first weeks were the most unforgiving of all. I could never forget them.

Okan-Zeeus, the great traitor of Black Marsh, the ruthless man who killed innocents, who dared to oppose the Hist…

He spent his nights after escaping execution in the deep forests of Cyrodiil. He left himself bare and sparsely dressed before the elements, if only to be distracted from his grief. He sat huddled in trees through calm nights, cold winds, and bitter storms, crying himself to sleep like a child.

He missed his home. For all the bloody horrors it had wrought upon him, he missed it. It was all he once had. Compared to that, this small but growing friendship with Dar-Meena was something worth holding on to.

And as I thought of the fates of those Okan-Zeeus held close, fear sank in its teeth.

~ooooo~

I awoke; my mind was groggy. I had half a sense of my surroundings, but felt too tired to care about them. I drifted back into the effortless comfort of sleep. In the blurry film of my eyelids, I could see the door leading out, sunlight breaking through the cracks.

Sunlight.

I shot out of bed.

_No! I slept in!? I never sleep in! _

I looked over at Dar-Meena's pallet. It wasn't there. All of the dockworkers were gone as well. I was alone. The room felt bigger, more imposing than it had the night before. I made no sudden movements. Then, gently, I reached for my sword. Xehtasken slid out of its scabbard.

I never sleep in.

My webbed feet carried me across the floor, silently, eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The air was cold enough to show my breath and a shudder ran down my tail. Something felt horribly amiss. I would have noticed if the others had left.

There was no good reason I did not.

As I approached the door I could hear commotion on the other side. Hammers banging, voices calling out. It was all too inaudible. What was happening? Where was Dar-Meena?

The door began to open. I sucked in a breath and hid behind a support beam, claws tightening around my sword. Sunlight poured into the room.

"Hey, Chase? Are you awake y–" Dar-Meena stopped in the doorway and stared. "What in Oblivion are you doing?"

I was standing half concealed behind a wooden beam, dressed only in underclothes, holding a drawn weapon. It must have been a sight.

"I…"

"Chase, what's happening?"

Nothing came to me. There were no sensible words to say. I could hear the sounds outside more clearly, the noise of busy dockworkers hammering crates and loading cargo.

"Say something!"

"You all left, I… I didn't know…"

The young thief sighed and leaned her head into her fist. "The others went to work early in the morning," she said. "I left to run errands. You were really tired, so I didn't wake you up."

I was fixed on the bright sunlight behind Dar-Meena. "I should… not have been tired…"

"Come on, don't you know how many nights you've spent awake these past weeks? It's no wonder you're so sleepy!" She put her hands on her hip. "Chase, I'm serious, what's gotten into you? Did you think you were in danger?"

What could I say? What in all the worlds could I possibly say that wouldn't make me seem a fool?

"I wasn't sure…"

Dar-Meena glanced uncomfortably outside. "Look, forget it. Just get yourself sorted and meet me by the docks. I'll wait for you."

The door shut behind her. Once more the room was dark and empty.

With an angry snarl, I smeared a hand down my snout. _Wake up, pond scum! This slackness is beneath you._ I returned to my pallet, sheathed my blade, and began donning my armor piece by piece. Half-way I stopped, sitting on the floor; my emotions caught up with my tired body. Eyes gently closed, I scooped up Xehtasken and stood it point-down in the gap between my legs, pressing the sword's cold steel handguard against my nose.

In that moment, I felt the weakest I had ever been in years.

~ooooo~

The noon-time sun threatened to blind me. Dar-Meena and I walked through the streets of Windhelm, making for the main gates. Our companions were waiting for us on the other side of the river, rested and ready to travel. The day was warmer than the last, a sentiment that sadly amounted to little. My feet felt painfully numb, wet snow clinging to my boots. I kept my tail swaying vigorously for blood flow.

"Dar-Meena, you seem… happy today," I said as we walked.

"You'd be too if you made a fortune selling dragon scales," she chirped. "A shame we spent most of it already."

"You did?" My eyes tapered. "I am afraid to ask on what…"

"You'll see for yourself. It's a surprise."

"I do not like surprises."

"Even better!"

I drew my hood down tight as people walked by, sunlight still trying to burn my eyes out. Too much noise. Too much commotion. Human cities always felt so tightly packed. In Black Marsh, at least, my people have the sense to respect the space of others.

On the subject of space… Dar-Meena seemed to be walking unusually close to me. It may have been my own imagining. The thought of last night still persisted. I glanced at the thief, hopelessly trying to read her. What was she thinking about? There was nothing in her expression, besides the obvious cheerfulness. Nothing in the swing of her arms, the loll of her head and feathers, the swaying of her shapely tail…

I suddenly felt the urge to hit myself.

_Stop it! This is completely unlike you! _

"You did not have any trouble selling the scales?" I asked, for no good reason.

"Nope," she said.

"None at all?"

"Chase, I'd bet my tail that I'm a better haggler than you, the Nord, and the elf combined. Not to brag or anything."

"Xhu... You mentioned once something about your mother and a merchant…?" We walked into the shade of some buildings. Relief from the sun at last. I savored it.

"My mother was the merchant," Dar-Meena said. "She wanted me to be one too. We have a family business in Chorrol, a general goods store. I had to put up with her tutoring for nine miserable years."

"What was so miserable about it?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't get me started. My mother was a shrew, with a temper to match an ogre. She'd sooner slap my wrist than offer a word of encouragement."

"Hmm. There is a saying about apples not falling far from trees..."

Her tail whipped me in the leg. I flinched and nearly plowed into a passing Nord. I was forced to apologize profusely.

"She wanted me to take over the store after her. I didn't," she said, after my episode was over. Though irritated at her lack of concern, I recovered my composure.

"Is that the reason you left?"

The change was subtle. Dar-Meena had already stopped smiling, but now there was something else behind it. Something darker.

"Part of the reason." She turned to me with a smirk. "By the way, I got something today. I hope you haven't forgotten our agreement."

Dar-Meena showed me her bag and pulled something out partway from inside the pouch. It was a book with a yellow cover, emblazoned with the image of a phoenix with outstretched wings. To the uninformed, it was a pleasant cover design. I knew, however, that the symbol represented one of the five schools of magic – Restoration.

"A spell tome! You were able to afford one?"

Dar-Meena shoved the book back in her bag and wore a devilish grin.

"Yeah… sure. Let's go with that."

My surprise slowly became a scowl.

"You didn't…"

"What do you mean? I said nothing."

"Dar-Meena! If you stole that–"

"You'll what? Turn me over to the guards?" She flung me a hard look. "In _this_ city?"

I fell silent. Her low cunning appalled me. After thwarting her theft in Riften, I gave no thought to future occasions. There was nothing I could do but rebuke her.

"Xhuth, you thought this through!"

"_So_ glad you noticed."

"I am not traveling across Skyrim with a thief, Dar-Meena," I said, glaring. "You'll get no mercy from me if I catch you stealing again." She merely laughed.

"Then I won't be this up-front anymore and let you enjoy the bliss of ignorance."

My fangs showed. "I mean it."

Her eyes flashed. "So do I."

Xhuth, what more was there to say? Dar-Meena could talk me down with aplomb. I rubbed the scales on my snout. Why did she have to be a thief? If there was one thing about her I could not tolerate…

Nearing the city gates, we came upon the Candleharth Hall, and the steps leading to it where the two drunks had attacked us. The inn's sign was broken. Beyond that, there were almost no traces of last night's struggle. Yet people had seen the fight, seen me. I hissed under my breath at the thought. Whatever city we traveled to next, I _needed_ to stay out. Trouble was doing a good job of following me in this province.

We walked across the river bridge, white sunlight glistening in the water below. At the other end, I saw Falura and Reinhardt by the roadside. Falura was sitting atop her horse. Reinhardt was… sitting atop his horse. And there were two other horses, with no one sitting on them. Dar-Meena extended her arm in presentation.

"_Horses_?" I stepped back.

"Horses," she said.

"No one spoke anything to me about horses!"

"We decided on it this morning," Falura said, trotting up to us. "Thanks to the coin your friend was able to make, we could afford three more mounts."

"Beats walking, don't it?" Reinhardt added from afar.

A growl escaped the cage of my teeth. "Am I allowed to partake in decision making? Or is my voice in this group symbolic?"

"Course it's not!" Reinhardt said, grinning as he joined us. "Your Voice is for killing dragons."

It was then that I, the rogue assassin Okan-Zeeus, surrounded by horses and struck speechless by a pun, realized that my darkest days were fast approaching.

Dar-Meena leapt onto her brown mare and rode up to me, handling the horse's reins as if they were her arms and tail. "Go ahead," she said. "Saddle up. You're the one who didn't want to waste time getting to Riverwood."

My horse stood in front of me. I looked into the dark glossy eyes of the great hoofed creature, feeling an imminent dread. I would have to suffer through this embarrassment. The young thief led her horse closer to me, two or three trots.

"Chase… You do know how to ride a horse, don't you?"

I folded my arms. Dar-Meena's face lit up with what I can only call fiendish delight.

"You _don't_?"

"I have only ever ridden one once," I muttered. "It was not an experience I wish to repeat. I prefer to keep the ground beneath my own two feet, thank you."

With a hand on top of her head, Dar-Meena exclaimed to the Nord and Dunmer. "Are you two hearing this?" She turned back to me. "Chase, don't be a wet blanket. We need these horses if we're going to keep traveling."

"Assuming we cannot refund them."

"Riding's not that hard, it just takes time to learn. Can you at least get in a saddle?"

"That depends. Is there a proper method…?"

She walked me through the technique. I checked the saddle, stirrups, and reins. As I leapt upon the horse, it started to walk without my prompting. I was helplessly along for the – admittedly slow – ride.

"Pull his mane," Dar-Meena said. I did. The horse stopped moving, to my amazement. Perhaps controlling these creatures was not so difficult after all, though I presumed a trainer had done most of the hard work.

"What now?" I asked, still knowing only three techniques: how to stop, how to mount, and how to be violently dismounted by gravity.

Dar-Meena rode up beside me and took my horse's rein into her hand. "We start slow. I'll guide the horse along for a while and let you get a feel for it. Just relax and keep your shoulders back. He can tell if you're tense, might make him fidgety."

_Terrific. _

Falura wore a bemused smile. "Surely you would not rank this mount as low as, say, a dragon?"

"This is a close contender," I replied. Root worms were higher on the list than these beasts. Those you ride by sitting inside their intestinal tracts.

"They'll be singing songs, you know, when all this is over and we've beaten the dragons," Reinhardt chuckled. "Ah, the tale of the Chestnut horse! Vanquisher of oats and bane of the Dragonborn."

Dar-Meena gave a laugh and Falura simpered. I took the joking in stride. I had been uncertain of the future before; now it promised even more uncertainty.

Uncertainty… and humiliation.


	55. Arc 3 - Chapter 4

**Arc 3 - A Stab in the Dark**

**~ CHAPTER 4 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

Riverwood. I can't put a claw on why I didn't like the place. It might have been the locals – dirt-caked Nords with sweaty shirts and sunburnt skin. Or maybe I'm just not a country girl. The town was so remote, an afterthought built up along the road, sandwiched between two mountains. The trees and the water were nice and all, but they wouldn't be enough to convince me to stay.

Thankfully, we_ got_ to Riverwood with all our limbs intact. For all the talk of war and dragons, we hardly met a crumb of trouble on the roads. I expected more raw danger from the land of the Nords. Yeah, there were those highwaymen we met along the White River, but they weren't worth the bother – one thu'um from Chase and they hightailed. Even the wildlife left us alone. You'd have thought Skyrim was the mildest province in Tamriel.

I figured the gods were holding back, just for us. There wasn't a chance in Oblivion we'd get another peaceful trip like that one.

We rode our horses into town, but nobody seemed to care much. Just another band of merry travelers passing through. The villagers kept to their morning labor, bundled up against the chill of autumn. Riverwood was content to leave us alone, so we left Riverwood alone. Except for Reinhardt. He didn't.

"Don't wait for me," he said, walking away as the rest of us tied down our horses near the Sleeping Giant Inn. "I'll be back."

"Where are _you_ off to?" I asked.

The Nord strolled down the road with a smile. "Made some friends here last time I came by. Gonna go pay a quick visit." He stopped suddenly and turned around, looking like he just remembered something. "Hey, Chases! You come too! Ralof and Gerdur – you met them both, right?"

Chase slid off his saddle awkwardly, happy to relinquish his horse. He hadn't learned to ride all that well on our short trip to Riverwood, but he was grasping the basics. I knew he would.

"Thank you, but I will decline," he said. "I never intended to see Ralof or his sister again. Please do not tell them I am here."

Reinhardt threw out his hands in disapproval. "Delphine can wait a little longer, don't you think?"

"Delphine has nothing to do with it. I came to this province to erase my tracks. Being relational works counter to that." Chase walked past the Nord, expressionless, straight to the porch of the inn. Reinhardt raised an eyebrow and scoffed.

"Ysmir. You're a piece of work, lizard."

"As you say." Chase entered the inn alone.

The three of us watched the door close, standing in the middle of the road. Reinhardt muttered something to himself, drowned out by the babble of the nearby brook. Falura was giving me a wired look, as if I was supposed to explain why the Dragonborn was acting aloof for the umpteenth time.

"Let's just get on with this," I said.

"Lead the way," Falura replied. She nodded to her bodyguard. "Reinhardt, you know where to find us."

The Nord waved and left, saying, "Give a holler if a dragon shows up."

We stepped into the Sleeping Giant and immediately – _immediately _– I wanted to step back out. Is there a single inn in Skyrim that _doesn't _look like the inside of a horse's ass? Aside from the three of us, there was a disturbing lack of customers. A gruff, bearded man was busy sweeping near the back with an unkempt broom. The tile floor, and his apron, looked stained by something dark and runny. I walked up to get his attention. His eyes might've twitched in my direction.

"Are you a zombie or something?" I asked, bending down to see his face.

"We got rooms and food. Drink too," he said in a gravelly voice. "I cook."

"Where's Delphine?"

He motioned his head over to a door on the right. "In her room. Said she didn't want anybody bothering her."

"Great. When will she come out?"

The bartender went back to sweeping. Message received.

"We'll… settle ourselves in," Falura said, eyeing the decor. She walked over to a wooden chair at one of the tables and dragged it closer to the hearth, then asked the barkeep if she could start a fire. The man went to fetch some logs, while Falura pulled out a book to read. Chase found a nice dark corner and leaned his back against the wall – not to seem inconspicuous, I think, but to ward off strangers from coming up and chatting with him. With that look on his face, I'd have sure kept my distance.

Too bad for him _we_ weren't strangers. I went to the wall and leaned back next to him.

"How's your hand feeling?" I asked, thinking of his mishap earlier that day.

"Fine," he said. "I am ready to start this meeting."

"I hear you there." I flung him a high-cheeked grin. "At least you can say your horse is warming up to you."

Chase scowled. "Is an attempt to bite off my fingers a show of affection?"

"It wasn't _his_ fault. You held your hand up too long. Lots of horses get grabby when you feed them."

"Dar-Meena, the fact that I have now lost blood to that creature has not improved my feelings toward it."

I couldn't help but snicker. "You know he didn't mean it."

"We cannot read its mind," Chase muttered. "I am more baffled by your apparent mirth at my injury. Why are you taking the animal's side?"

"Because one of you has healing magic and the other is a horse," I said. "Now stop being such a baby."

"You mean hatchling."

"I know what I said."

The inn's front door swung open with a burst of sunlight. We turned our heads to find Reinhardt standing in the doorway. He singled out Chase and waved him over.

"Gerdur's house," he said. "You need to go there. Right now."

Chase straightened himself, brow creasing. "What is it?"

"Don't know. Gerdur wants to talk to you, says it's important."

"_Why_ did you tell her I was here?"

"She mentioned you first," Reinhardt grumbled. "I think something happened to her brother."

Apprehension flashed in Chase's eyes. He took a step to the door, meeting each of us in the eye. "Wait here for Delphine. All of you," he said. "If she asks, tell her I will be back soon." Chase hastened outside, boots clopping down the steps of the porch. He didn't shut the door behind him, letting a cold breeze blow right in. Reinhardt took the task of closing it and sat down on a tabletop. Falura looked up from the book in her lap.

"Oh my," she said. "Is everything alright?"

"It's Gerdur. Something's got that woman scared," Rainhardt grumbled. "I don't like it."

Neither did I. Then again, I was already walking to the door.

"I'm going to check it out," I said.

Falura closed her book and stood up. "Chases asked us to stay here, did he not?"

"Like I give a shit. He should know me better by now."

Outside on the porch, I looked around for where Chase had gone, squinting beneath the blazing sun. Going right down the road would take me out of town, back the way we came, so I took a left. At a fork in the path, I saw Chase enter a house on the other side of town, back near a rocky foothill. He didn't notice me. I went closer. Townsfolk were tending to their gardens, too distracted to mind me strolling over to Gerdur's house. Whoever Gerdur was.

I walked up to the wood fence rimming the property. It was a decent sized home, cobble-walled and thatch-roofed, big enough for a small family. The fence gate was open and some chickens were loose, clucking and squawking around my feet. I kicked one away. _Where are the windows on this house?_ I thought. I stepped over the fence, circled around and found a strip of window panes. They were too high up, though, for me to see through. I had to improvise. Behind the house near a crop of potatoes I found a wicker basket. It made a nice footstool.

I peered through the window on the tips of my toes, just to get a quick glimpse. Chase was talking with a straw-haired woman, his back to me. Gerdur had heavy bags under her eyes, like she hadn't slept in days. It was your typical Nord hovel inside; nothing looked out of place or unusual, until I saw the bed at the far back wall. There was a blanket laid over what I could only describe as raw meat.

If it wasn't for the hair, I'd have never guessed it was a face.

_Son of a bitch… Is _that _Ralof? _

My feet collapsed into the basket with a crunch. I was too heavy for it. I cupped my mouth to muffle a yelp, checking around to make sure no one heard me. "Damn," I hissed. I hid the basket back behind the house and hurried back to the inn, trying to act unassuming. It was lucky break getting out of there uncaught, though the image of the beaten man stayed in my mind. Whoever he was, he was important to Chase and Reinhardt, which made his state of being all the more troubling.

I creaked through the door of the Sleeping Giant, picked up a stool, set it next to Falura's and sat. She gave me a prying glance, but didn't ask anything – I'll bet my face said enough. She returned to her book. Reinhardt pitched me a few questions, but I ignored them. It was Chase who deserved to tell him anything. A good half-hour passed before he returned. Chase shuffled through the doorway like a dead man, face void of all feeling. I couldn't tell if he was pissed or just coldly indifferent.

"Finally back. Have you something to share with us?" Falura asked. Chase slumped against a wood beam, one arm hanging limp, the other resting on the pommel of his sword. He stared at the flames of the hearth in the center of the room.

"We will discuss it later," Chase said calmly.

"What's the matter?" Reinhardt asked. "Don't leave us all hanging. What did Gerdur have to tell you?"

"I said we will discuss it later."

Before anyone could keep prodding, Delphine appeared from her room, dressed in the long skirt of a landlady. She gaped at us, then scowled at the bartender.

"Orgnar, I _told you_ to knock if a customer comes inside," she said.

Orgnar kept sweeping the floor. "Want me to do it now? Or is it too late?"

Either these two were a genuine couple of clods, or really good actors. I could see how Delphine managed to keep up her cover as an innkeeper. She was convincing, bitchy tone and all. Reinhardt hopped off his table and almost spoke a syllable.

"Not here," Delphine interrupted. "Follow me." She returned to her bedroom. After a moment's hesitation, we all walked to the doorway. Reinhardt and Falura stepped through first, single-file. I was about to walk in, before Chase put a hand on my shoulder and leaned into my ear.

"Speak nothing of what you saw," he whispered. "Everything has changed. No one can be trusted."

Chase skirted past me, glaring back to seal his words, and returned to a state of blank composure. The heated tone of his voice reminded me of Riften, back when the Dark Brotherhood attacked us. I swallowed as I entered Delphine's room. A queen-sized bed, wooden chair with arm rests, and a single cabinet dominated the space. It was roomy for one, but stuffy for five.

"Close the door," Delphine ordered, and Falura complied. Chase's eyes climbed the walls. Reinhardt once again tried to pop off a sentence, but Delphine turned away and opened her cabinet. It was empty. She pressed something inside that made a distinct _click_. Suddenly the cabinet back board swung open, revealing a hidden staircase.

"Now we can talk," she said. "Watch your step."

The four of us stared down the dark, narrow corridor. It reeked of dank stone. Did Delphine just _happen _to own an inn with a secret basement? Seeing the false cabinet, though, made me think of the Thieves Guild, and that made me smile. Falura and Reinhardt traded looks. Chase still betrayed no emotion – he went down the stairs first. The rest of us followed, closing the cabinet behind us.

We found ourselves in a musty, low-ceilinged cellar. An iron chandelier hung over a table at the center of the room. Barrels, chests, shelves of alchemy ingredients, and weapon racks branding bows and swords lined the walls. The place was a stockpile as much as a hideout. Delphine stood across from us on the other side of the table, leaning over it with her hands spread apart. The chandelier cast dark shadows on her face.

Chase looked uncomfortable, tail taut and mouth pursed, eyes exploring the clustered room. "I hope we will be keeping our discussion brief," he said.

"There's a lot to cover, Dragonborn. But I'm glad you all made it here in one piece," Delphine replied. "Let's get down to business."

Falura stepped forward. "Last we spoke, you brought the Thalmor to our attention," she said. "Are you still convinced they're responsible for the black dragon's appearance?"

Delphine nodded. "And I've figured out how we're going to learn what they know." She opened a chest under the table, pulled out two rolls of paper, and unfurled one in front of us. It showed a detailed map of Haafinger, Skyrim's north-western hold. There was a spot marked with a red circle.

"We're going inside the Thalmor Embassy," Delphine said, "the heart of their operations here in Skyrim."

Chase scowled. "An embassy? You wish us to break inside their _embassy_?"

"It's our only option. Anything they've recorded about the dragons will be there, and we need to get our hands on it."

"Oh? Correct me if I'm wrong, but this sounds like a heist," I said, curling up a smile.

Reinhardt folded his arms. "Huh. Don't usually take on _these_ kinds of jobs."

"I do not like this idea," Chase spoke sharply. "We already have the dragons as foes. Adding the Aldmeri Dominion will only compound our problems. Is it truly worth infiltrating their embassy?"

"If you're allying with me, Dragonborn, I guarantee the Thalmor won't turn a blind eye to you," Delphine said. "It's a good thing they don't know who you are yet. I suggest you get used to seeing them as your enemy."

Chase huffed. "They were never friends of this one_._ I crossed swords with the Thalmor in Hammerfell. The ordeal taught me all I needed to know about them, though it's been some years since." He matched Delphine's frown. "Before you ask, no – my identity is still a secret."

"Do you know for sure?"

"Corpses cannot recall a face."

The woman smirked. "Well, that's music to _my_ ears. You had me worried for a minute. So what's it going to be? Are you up for this or not?" After some lengthy consideration, Chase nodded. Delphine relaxed a little, redirecting our attention to the map. "The Thalmor Embassy is near the city of Solitude. Problem is, the place is locked up tighter than a miser's purse. They could teach me a few things about paranoia."

"Got a plan to get us in, then?" Reinhardt asked.

"I doubt we'd be here if she didn't," Falura replied.

"Nevermind that. Give me two days to scout the embassy grounds," Chase said. "If they have any flaws in their security, I will find them."

Delphine held up a hand. "Slow down, Dragonborn. It won't be that simple. Besides, I _do_ have a plan. The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen, throws parties on the third of every month, where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor."

Chase's brow rose in interest. "Is that so?"

"I can get us an invitation to one of those parties. Whoever we send in can sneak away and find Elenwen's private files. Most of the guards will be busy tending to the guests. Perfect opportunity to slip away unnoticed."

"I see," Chase said. "Then I volunteer."

Delphine shook her head. "Here's the problem with that: the person we send has to assume a cover identity, one that I've been cooking up for a while now. I can't have just anyone fill it. When was the last time you heard of an _Argonian_ entrepreneur operating in Skyrim?"

Chase grimaced. "You're saying my race will make me suspect?"

"We can't afford to take chances here. _I_ can't be the one to do this – the Thalmor know me intimately. I'll attract the wrong kind of attention."

"What use is a cover identity to you, if you yourself can't assume it?" Falura asked.

"I didn't make it for the disguise. I work in the shadows, behind the scenes. Getting things done is easier when people think you've got a rich and influential employer," Delphine replied. "Right now, there's only one person in this room I suspect who'll pass for a Skyrim aristocrat."

Delphine set her eyes on him.

"_Me_?" Reinhardt balked.

My jaw fell open. "You've got to be joking."

"He best fits the profile," Delphine said. "Middle-aged Nord, native born… a little dim-witted but charismatic. His background in this province should help give him credibility."

"He's a damn sword for hire! Even if he looks the part, how is he supposed to sneak around inside this embassy?" I threw the man a hard look. "What do you even know about thievery? Have you stolen anything before in your life?"

Reinhardt scratched his neck. "Well… I'm not a thief or–"

"See!? It'll never work!" I growled.

"We need an expert in _stealth_, Delphine," Chase sternly insisted. "Perhaps we can approach this another way. Let's take a step back – do you have a floor plan of the embassy?"

Delphine unfurled her second roll of paper. "Right here. Keep this copy for yourself when we're done. You can look it over on the way to Solitude."

Chase perused the detailed diagram, musing aloud. "Two buildings, one stable, separated by an open courtyard… Perimeter fencing, single entrance gate… A defensible layout. How many guards on average at the premises?"

"Rough guess, no less than thirty," Delphine said.

"Warriors or wizards?"

"Both."

"Rune traps? Detect Life spells?"

"This _is_ the Thalmor we're talking about."

Chase folded his arms. "I am assuming elven weapons and armor for patrols. Weather conditions?"

"Snow. Lots of it."

"Hmm… Problematic. Describe their defenses in more detail."

Delphine did her best to answer every question Chase asked, and he asked a lot of them. Each one dealt with something specific about either the Thalmor or the embassy itself. He wanted a very thorough picture. What startled me was that he knew exactly what questions to ask; this was definitely something he'd done before. _He's a trained killer, a wilderness survivalist, and now an expert in espionage._ Little by little, I was piecing a picture of the man Chase used to be.

Once he finished with his questions, he brooded for a while, then said, "I will need to scout out the embassy and see it for myself. But one thing seems clear – this party _is_ our best chance to reach the Thalmor's documents."

I glanced warily at Reinhardt. "You're saying we _have_ to send this idiot in?"

"Hey. I like to think I'm more an oaf than an idiot," the Nord replied, chin turned up.

"Were there any other way, Dar-Meena," Chase muttered. "If Delphine's information is correct, this embassy will be heavily patrolled and defended. It's not impenetrable, but there aren't enough of us with the proper training to attempt a concerted break-in."

"Oh? You imply that you have much experience with planning infiltrations, Dragonborn," Falura asked, eyes narrowed at Chase.

"I do," he said with a frown. "Which is why I hope you will all listen to me."

Some of us still hadn't warmed up to the plan. We all debated back and forth for a while, Falura and Reinhardt lending their voices, but Chase struck down every proposal. According to him, our biggest obstacle boiled down to a lack of manpower and resources. I had to accept the sense of that. It took five of us from the Thieves Guild to rob a single caravan on the Cyrodiil frontier. How much more would it take to steal from the Thalmor? We probably _did_ need Delphine's invitation.

"But _Reinhardt_?" I groaned. "Really? Even if he attends the party, he'll never pull of a job like this alone."

Chase turned to the Blade. "Can we send another person in with him? Someone posing as a bodyguard or steward perhaps?"

Delphine leaned over her table, processing the idea. "Not a bodyguard, they won't allow that. But a steward might work. The other guests tend to tote along their lackeys."

"Then make it this one," Chase said. "Surely you can come up with some excuse for my presence. Reinhardt is going to need my help once he's inside." Nobody argued against the suggestion. Regardless of what anybody thought about Chase's skills, his thu'um was the real show stealer. Having a trump like that inside the embassy would help tip things in our favor. Delphine perused the floor plans, thinking to herself.

"Alright Dragonborn," she said. "I'll get you in."

"What about me and her?" I asked, pointing at Falura. "What are we supposed to do during all this?"

"There is still the issue of our getaway," Chase reminded everyone. "But first, we need to know where the Thalmor keep their documents. Delphine?"

The Blade gathered us around to get a closer look at the map of the embassy grounds. She pointed her finger on the parchment as she spoke. "The largest building is the embassy itself, where the party will be held. This smaller one, here, is Elenwen's Solar, where the ambassador keeps her files."

Chase growled. "We will have to cross the courtyard outside to reach it. In snow. I foresee trouble remaining undetected, even if we can obstruct line of sight. Invisibility is just as useless if the Thalmor's mages can cast Detect Life. Xhuth…" He clawed at his feathers. Chase was getting progressively more agitated for some reason. His eyes kept flicking to the walls.

"So we can't sneak in," Reinhardt shrugged. "We'll fight 'em, then, if that's what we gotta do."

"Fighting's not how you handle a heist," I scoffed.

"No, Dar-Meena. I fear he may be right," Chase said. "Once we step out into that courtyard, the Thalmor will almost certainly discover us, if they have not already by then. We will have no choice but to press into the Solar and keep the guards at bay. As for escaping… going back outside exposes us to archers and mage fire. I can use my thu'um to repel attackers or clear long distances. However…"

"I'll slow you down," Reinhardt finished for him. "You're a quicker one than I am, lizard. I'm not ashamed to admit it."

"There's a stable," I said. "Just steal a mount and ride off."

"The Thalmor will sooner kill their horses than let us take them," Chase replied.

"Does this Elenwen have a panic room? A hidden exit in her Solar?" Falura asked.

"No hidden exit," Delphine muttered. "Trust me. I've checked."

"We will _have_ to go outside, then," Chase said, "and escape on foot."

Falura gripped her staff. "But with patrols and magical traps throughout the surrounding forest…"

"Gods damn. You two are gonna take it hard and sideways out there," I said, thumping an elbow on the table. "We've got to create a diversion, something to keep the Thalmor busy while you make your getaway."

Chase nodded. "We should scout out the area surrounding the embassy first, before we plan anything further. I can scour the area for the most optimal escape route."

The mage looked less than delighted with that prospect. Judging from the glances she threw Reinhardt now and then, I think she was more concerned with his safety than Chase's. Of the two, he would be the one least likely to get out of that embassy alive.

"There must be a better way…" Falura whispered.

"There _might_ be," Chase replied. "It will be a long ride to Solitude. That's time to come up with ideas." He turned to Delphine. "One final matter. Reinhardt and I will need weapons and equipment if we are going to survive, not just what we find inside the embassy. Can we smuggle anything in with us?"

"Yes," Delphine said. "I have a contact inside the embassy. He's not up for this kind of high risk mission, but he can help us. His name is Malborn. Wood Elf. It's because of him that we have these floor plans."

"You're certain we can trust him?" Falura asked.

"He's not a dangerous character, but he hates the Thalmor at least as much as I do. They wiped out his family back in Valenwood during one of their 'purges' that we never hear about. Luckily they don't know who he really is, or he wouldn't be serving drinks at the ambassador's parties. I'll get word for him to meet you in Solitude, at the Winking Skeever. It's an inn on the city's south quarter."

"Very well," Chase said. "I assume you will need time to secure our invitations."

"I'll handle it while you head for Solitude. I'm as fast on the ground as any courier. You'll have invites for the third of next month, so don't waste time getting there." Delphine, uncharacteristically, smiled. "This has been a long time coming. I've wanted to get into the Thalmor Embassy for years. I'm honored _you're_ the one who's helping me do it, Dragonborn."

"As long as this yields worthwhile information. Stopping the dragons is all I care for," Chase replied. "I reserve the right to change my mind, if I am ever inclined to."

"Alright. Be careful," Delphine said. "I'll meet you all in Solitude."

The woman left shortly after we dispersed. After a quick resupply at the general goods store, the four of us assembled back outside the inn. I stole a peek at Chase as I took the reins of my horse. He was still measured and calm, but his movements were stiff with a bottled tension. I wanted to ask him what had happened to Ralof, why he looked like such a mess, and what his condition had to do with anything. Our eyes met and he mouthed the words, _Not here. Soon._

Turns out by _soon _he meant much later that evening, while we slept out in the hills overlooking Whiterun. Chase claimed he'd camped in this spot before, on his first trip to see the Jarl. Bright stars glittered in the sky, poking through a patchy cloak of clouds. Lights from the city were burning in the distance. We'd prepped a small fire, positioning our tents to hide its glow from the valley below. Chase insisted. He sat on a rock close to the fire and I sat beneath him, while Reinhardt and Falura used cots to keep from dirtying their pants. Frogs croaked. Wolves howled. Wind moaned all around us. The night was chilling.

Sometime during dinner – a simple rabbit stew brewed by Reinhardt – Chase made his announcement.

"Ralof was beaten bloody. Tortured," he said, "because he knew of my whereabouts."

"What!? Who?" Reinhardt growled, tossing aside his empty bowl. "Damn the lot to Mehrunes Dagon! _Who did this_?"

"Bounty hunters," Chase said. "My enemies must have contracted them, which means they know I am here in Skyrim. We are all in terrible danger."

I feigned a cough to end the silence.

"Uh, Chase?" I spoke up. "We knew that a long damned time ago. We're fighting _dragons_, in case you forgot."

"Yes. Dragons that we can see. Dragons that announce their presence with roaring and fire." Chase leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. "Dragons cannot slit our sleeping throats or poison us with darts. My enemies can. And they will try."

"They'll _try _alright," Reinhardt sneered. "That's all they're gonna get to do, before we wring their necks."

Chase didn't cheer for Reinhardt's sentiment. He barely acknowledged the man, let alone the rest of us. He was off in his own world of thoughts.

"What do you advise we do, Dragonborn?" Falura asked.

"I must teach the three of you how to live as I have," he said. "Expect the worst at any moment and be wary at all times. If one of us looks forward, the rest should look back. If one is asleep, the others should be awake." He sat up, breathing deeply. The conversation didn't get much better after that.

Chase asked me to take first watch with him that night. My eyelids were getting heavy, but I didn't say anything, on the hunch that he wanted us to talk alone – a hunch that turned out right. We sat together just outside of camp, looking out over the darkened vista. Chase was cross-legged in the dirt and I lay against a boulder, fingers weaved behind my head.

"Alright already, get it over with," I said, yawning enormously. "Aren't you going to badger me for spying on you?"

"No," he replied.

We listened to the sounds of the wind and rustling plants. I was barely awake, but I couldn't fall asleep even if I'd wanted to. Every swish and crackle made me twitch. We were out in the open. I felt exposed, seeing killers in the dark that weren't there. How did Chase learn to live with this kind of paranoia?

"You're upset about this Ralof guy," I said.

"We escaped Helgen together. I knew this would happen," Chase hissed. "The question was never if, but when. Still, this is sooner than I expected."

I rolled my eyes. "Of _course_. It's always doom and gloom with you. If you're trying to scare me, by the way, it's working. Can you stop now?"

"It never stops."

My eyes had adapted to the soft dusk. I looked over at Chase and noticed something in his hand. He was holding a piece of folded up parchment, yellow and worn. There were dark splotches on it. Bloodstains.

"This flier is old," Chase said, after he caught me staring. "Whoever had it, kept it for a long time. Years. I do not know why."

"When did you get it?" I asked.

"Ralof managed to take it from one of the men who tortured him, an Argonian. His sister gave it to me. I can only hope she showed it to no one else."

That woke me up a bit. "Holy shit… Is there writing on it? What does it say?"

Chase turned around to check on the others. Reinhardt and Falura were fast asleep. He leaned forward, taking a deep, resigning sigh.

"You wish to know who I really am?" he asked.

I sat up. Chase handed me the paper.

"Here is your chance, Dar-Meena. It's time you learned."

I stared at him. What was I supposed to say to _that_? His eyes had me in their grip, reflecting the bright city lights. I tore myself away, running a comb of claws through my feathers. Chase tilted his head.

"Is this not what you have sought after?" he asked. "You have asked your questions tenaciously since we left Riften."

"But… I didn't think you would–"

"Do this? I have tried to keep you in the dark, yes. But the arrival of these bounty hunters has made me question the sense of it." He glared at the sight of Dragonsreach. "Word of my identity is going to spread. Some truth. Some lies. I would rather you learn these things from me, than from someone else."

"Like who?"

He didn't answer. He just held the parchment up for me to take. Reluctantly, I did.

"Why?" I asked, glancing back at camp. "Why me and not them?"

Chase sighed. "Trust is… difficult, for this one. But if we're to survive the threats rising against us, perhaps it's time I chose someone to trust." He paused, closing his mouth to change words. "If you open that parchment, you will be accepting a burden of knowledge. You will become an accomplice, in the eyes of my hunters."

I held onto the parchment with both hands, feeling my quickened heartbeat. Why was I so nervous all of a sudden? I'd been trying to figure out Chase's identity for weeks, and here it was, literally within breathing distance. I should have been excited, but the solemn look on Chase's face sure didn't fill me with excitement. For the first time, I had to ask myself: did I _really_ want to know who he was?

_We all hide scary things about ourselves…_

"Chase, I…" The sentence had trouble forming, but I soldiered on. "I don't care who you used to be. That's not… I'm not traveling with him, whoever he was. I'm traveling with Chases-The-Wind. The Dragonborn."

In response he chuckled, a wide and thankful grin on his face, like those were the best words he'd heard all day. "If we could abandon the shadows of our pasts, we would," he told me. "But our pasts tell us who we are. I am not Chases-The-Wind. That is not my real name."

"Then…" I trailed off. I didn't need to ask who he was. He'd just point to the paper.

"Open it or give it back," Chase said. "I will not judge whatever you decide to do."

It hit me then, what he was saying by doing this. After spending weeks trying to scare me off and send me back to Riften, he'd given up. At no point did he say that he _didn't_ want me to read whatever was on that paper. Maybe he was actually hoping I would. It's a stretch, but I like to think it that's how he felt…

After sitting for minutes in an hour of silence, I undid the folds, frowning.

"It's too dark," I muttered. "I can't read a thing."

Chase took in a breath, then held up an idle healing spell, illuminating the parchment.

It was a wanted poster. The writing was in a foreign language. I couldn't even make out the reward sum – it wasn't Imperial currency – though it didn't take a child to figure that the number was big. _Very_ big. I looked at the criminal's portrait, sketched in ink: an Argonian male, horns sawed off and head feathers plucked, except for a stripe down the middle of his scalp. He looked angry, features traced with thick dark lines, like the artist pressed them forcefully onto the page. The name below was written in two languages, one of them Tamrielic. _Okan-Zeeus._ I glossed over it. My eyes were fixed on the picture, on the young man staring back at me.

There were claw-mark scars on the left of his face.

"The insignia on that parchment," Chase said, "comes from the An-Xileel and the Organism, the highest echelons of my people's leadership." He hesitated. "You cannot read the words, but they demand my death. A sentence such as mine… is only given in response to treason, of the gravest kind. Not against our rulers, but against our creators. The Hist."

I turned and looked at him. His face was lined with deep remorse.

"You are traveling, Dar-Meena, with the most wanted man in Black Marsh."

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTES**

_A few things warrant explanation. First off, I'm giving the Thalmor Detect Life spells. Because, let's be honest, a race of magically inclined elves are going to use that kind of asset to protect their secret documents. They just would. It makes sense, doesn't it?_

_Second, Elenwin's Solar has a trapdoor exit in the actual game that leads directly outside. Personally, if I were the Thalmor and I wanted to keep thieves from pilfering our secrets, I would not allow such a convenient escape route to exist. So in my fiction, it doesn't. _

_I'm also up-scaling the size of the Embassy itself. It's going to be bigger than the one in the game, with more people (and opposition) inside. You can apply this to all major cities and locations, actually. In real life, places like Whiterun would be considered __villages__ due to the small number of actual occupants._

* * *

**QUICK ANNOUNCEMENT**

**Hey all. I'm still currently working on another manuscript - this is a chapter of DOTE I wrote earlier this month, mostly to make sure I wrote _something_ in my down time. I still won't be releasing new chapters HERE for a while, but if I ever end up writing any more, you'll see them.**

**Thanks for the patience. Hope you enjoy.**


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